It's all about Tennis, right?
by Lil' Monk
Summary: At the U-17 National Candidates Selection Camp, Echizen Ryoma finds circumstances & bonds formed beyond his control. Atobe. Yukimura. After Niou and Tezuka's little skirmish, it's all Shiraishi's fault? Nah, blame Inui for the gender trauma!
1. Clash of the Cs

Maybe, just maybe, it's all about the tennis?

**Disclaimer**: Konomi Takeshi owns Prince of Tennis, which I pay tribute to by not attempting to inflict Inui-like juices on my family, and make no profit from exercising the muses.

**A/N**: So I can never decide what eye/hair colour players like Atobe Keigo and Echizen Ryoma should be. To follow the magazine covers or anime? Apologies if it gets slightly mixed.

Lastly, my referring to Echizen Ryoma throughout the story by either Echizen (family name) or Ryoma (personal name) has a certain connotation here, in terms of degree of personal perception. Or in short: How and when it gets a bit more personal for Ochibi.

**Clash of the Cs**

What would you expect a team of excited junior-high school tennis players to do, in their first evening at the U-17 National Candidates Selection Camp?

Sitting around the remnants of nine dinner trays at the mess hall, no one could come up with anything. Everybody was too restless to go back to their rooms. Any suggestion with a racket had already been mooted, because nobody could agree on what to do with that. Furthermore, the most prolifically reticent of them all was being more reticent than usual (if that was even possible). So naturally, the loudest and most persistent won.

"I've got it! Let's go to the computer lab, nya!"

"But the computer lab is supposed to be closed until tomorrow, Kikumaru-sempai."

"You never know. Let's go take a look, Momo," was Oishi's helpful contribution. And with that backup, it was settled.

"C'mon, guys!" was punctuated with an acquiescent and smiling Fuji being hauled out of his seat by one half of the Golden Pair and dragged towards the exit.

Pushing the glasses further up his nose, Inui was quick to follow and take the lead. He had noticed that Hyotei Gakuen had been behaving rather oddly after their tensai whispered something to an acrobatic partner, who then whispered something to the next guy, and so on. As one, they had left the mess hall rather quickly after dinner. This was a good chance to figure out what was going on with their rivals, and the temptation of gaining useful data could not be resisted.

So off they went down long plain hallways illuminated with fluorescent white lights from high ceilings: Kikumaru nearly choking an indulgent Fuji while bouncing behind Inui, Oishi smiling from behind at his partner's exuberance while having a conversation with Kawamura about the drama Love Shuffle, Momoshiro keeping a firm arm around Echizen while regaling him with what had happened ever since he'd left for America, Kaidoh nearly jamming himself between them so as not to lose out to his rival where positioning was concerned and hence getting into a heated exchange of insults with Momoshiro, Tezuka bringing up the rear while apparently deep in thought, and Echizen rolling his eyes at his seniors' antics while wondering if his captain had more facial expressions than himself.

Wandering around a few corners and guessing with a few turns later, the data maestro was recalculating the odds of success over retracing his steps with the previous two twists, when a sharp elbow dug into his side. He had to resist a groan. Why did Kaidoh have to have such bony elbows? But it was Kikumaru's super-sharp senses that drove the point home.

"Ooh, there's a faint light from under that door! Did you hear that funny sound?"

A hush fell over the whole team. Now they were all curious. The small metal plaque affixed next to the non-descript black door said 'Library'. Quieter than snoozing cats, the door was opened and everyone snuck in single file.

The sight that greeted them was confusing.

If it was possible for an incredibly supercilious smirk to be even more radiantly annoying than usual, Atobe Keigo had obviously perfected it. He seemed very amused at his teammates, who all appeared to be stuck in various throes of some sort. A red-faced Shishido Ryou was flat on his back, clutching his stomach and gasping. One would have thought he was pregnant. His doubles partner Ohtori Choutarou was sprawled on the floor and clinging to a chair leg, head flung back as tears streamed down his face between snorts. Akutagawa Jirou was anything but sleepy, yelping with laughter at the reactions of those two. A grim-faced Hiyoshi Wakashi with bowed legs appeared to be gripping the chair head for support and was muttering in a somewhat distressed manner about "Gekokujou can't be like that!" Kabaji had obviously passed out, nose bloody and hand clapped across his mouth. Mukahi Gakuto's eyes were as round as moons, staring at the one in the chair with an expression that almost nobody could decipher. The one in the chair could, but he had just come to the most important part of the exercise.

"And the moral of the story is?"

"There are morals in that pigswill?" exclaimed Gakuto, still a tad green around non-existent gills and liable to throw up at any moment.

Jirou was quick to chime in with "Tomato relish can be useful and tasty?"

"Perverted seniors enjoy breaking brains for nothing?" That barb earned Hiyoshi a swat across the head, as well as a benevolent smile from Oshitari Yuushi.

"No. It means you must trounce opponents so thoroughly that they cannot be considered rivals, thereby avoiding the creation of future nightmares like the ones you've just read."

Speaking of opponents..." He swiveled around in the chair to match stares with the new arrivals.

Momoshiro rubbed his nose. "Ah, are we interrupting something?" And then he, like the other Seigaku regulars, realised one thing: The majority of Hyotei Gakuen's tennis regulars were focused on the biggest menace in their team.

But what made the scenario weird was the way they were looking at him. And the tension. The room appeared to be heating up. There was unity in-

"It's your fault, you brat!" exploded Shishido, frazzled nerves loaded in every word.

"But sempai, it was Atobe-buchou who first used the cucumber in their relationship-"

"You wanna argue with me, Choutarou-kun? Let's take this outside-"

"Cucumber, nya? What are you impl-"

"Sorry, sempai, I shouldn't have-"

"No, it's my fault, I didn't have to blow-"

"Could you both blow yourselves outside and spare us the sap?" wailed Hiyoshi.

"Er, Eiji, I don't think we want to know," Oishi smoothly interjected at the same time, starting to look a little off-colour himself. This was what came of being too concerned for his fellow teammates: The imagination also became too healthy for its own good.

"Yeah, but when your brat grasped the cactus, he didn't have to-"

By this time, Fuji Syuusuke and Echizen Ryoma were pushing their way through the other school's players to find out what was on that computer screen; the genius determined to find out why cactuses were involved, while the prodigy could not contain curiosity that was starting to smoke at the edges.

And Hyotei Gakuen's tensai was only too willing to accommodate by scrolling up and down at will.

A minute passed in absolute silence. By this time, all the other Seigaku members tried muscling in to get a spot and figure out what was going on.

Blue eyes had darkened to an ominous shade. Hazel eyes were now so bright that they were almost golden, gleaming dangerously. Everybody else was gaping, spluttering or muttering inaudibly to themselves so nobody else could hear.

"Ridiculous."

If a cobra could spit, the saliva would be as venomous as the boy who turned away from the computer, mouth set in a thin line. "I beat the Monkey King, so this rubbish makes no sense."

And with those words, there went Fuji Syuusuke's notion of exacting justice for a poorly-used cactus (until later), as described by the fanfiction writer Lil' Monk. Nevermind the appalling involvement of cactus juice; the grossness of its ordeal screamed out to him for vengeance in the form of one of Inui's juices being forced down the throat of such a perverse writer. And damn the story for flooding his brain with enough erotic images that it was a muddled mess. But he was unreadable, he was a genius, and he was not about to reveal any weakness… Hence he went with whatever first came to mind. Nobody expected him to look at the youngest player present with an indescribably mild expression, head shaking slightly and flashing a smile so gentle that Echizen found it condescendingly offensive.

"Ochibi, you're so innocent. That's just... just..."

"Too cute!" yelled Eiji, glomping his junior with an enthusiasm that threatened to give his neck an hourglass figure it didn't need. Oishi had to pry him off, as said junior began to choke and cough while flailing for air. Almost staggering, Echizen found his back against someone and being steadied by two hands on his shoulders. And realised that Oshitari Yuushi was eyeing him with a disturbing satisfaction.

"Indeed, he doesn't know…"

"That in the world of fanfiction and irrespective of all else, the taller guy usually tops the shorter one, hence seme and uke. Hear that, Uke Boy?" hissed Gakuto, enjoying himself immensely. There might be a silver lining after all. It was galling that nobody in Hyotei could beat the midget, and their captain had yet to be avenged for the boy wonder shaving his head. The joy of knowing that this particular shorty had never read fanfiction was deliciousssssssss.

"That means everyone- Even Jirou tops him?" squeaked Hiyoshi. Jirou would have laughed at usually forceful solemnity now as scruffy as a strangled toilet brush, except for the vivid stream of action that just popped into his mind. It was too much. Since he wasn't sleepy, he did the next best thing.

He fainted. And landed on top of an unconscious teammate who couldn't object to cushioning his fall.

Atobe's smirk widened. He was used to all sorts of adoration from his fans, and fanfiction was nothing new to him. But apparently his poor squad did not, and Oshitari had decided to use that knowledge to inspire them into endeavoring to beat everybody they met in this selection camp. It never occurred to him that such logic might not be that logical and in fact, somewhat twisted. Ah, the price of popularity. In fact, he knew that out of the Hyotei tennis squad, his name was googled the most times. Such data was unchangeable. And speaking of data…

"Ii, data? Despite verbal cockiness, is it even possible to do _that_ with his mouth and tongue?" A traumatised Inui wondered out loud to nobody, but it was enough for Tezuka to go into a fit of sneezing. And that was the last straw.

"Get your hands off me, Momo-sempai," escaped coldly from between gritted teeth. Eyeing them all, his ire was fierce enough to fry the sun. Hyotei was full of perverts. And how could his seniors not- He was only interested in tennis balls. His dad's adult porno magazines were- He did not want to think about the crap he'd just read, about Atobe and- Or the possibility of other fanfiction pieces pairing various players with him- The notion made him sick to his stomach and he managed to suppress the gag reflex, but not the shudder. And he forced himself not to think further on it.

"Che. It's fine if guys like other guys, but leave me out!"

Nobody had ever seen the officially-unbeaten champion crack. He was always unperturbed and quiet except when snarky, plus only ever displaying emotion for tennis. He usually exemplified determination, arrogance, subtle kindness and many various shades of grey, but never anything blatantly black or white or red. Until now. The inner armour had remained soundly intact, irrespective of how the outer armour was battered and healed. But for the first time, everybody present was prepared to swear that maybe, this new crack-line extended a bit further than usual.

Eiji whispered to Oishi, "Is he homophobic?"

To which Oishi whispered back, "He's too young to be homophobic. From what we've seen, even a plant would be more sexual."

But Kaidoh had hissed, "Doesn't save him from the pedophilic."

Momoshiro couldn't resist asking, "And how would you know about that?" which Kaidoh took to be an insult, resulting in verbal fisticuffs that Fuji tried to mediate between.

Inui was suddenly very interested in making sure his glasses were perfectly balanced on his nose, down to the last millimeter. Tezuka was just as engrossed in the same action. They ended up glaring at each other for being copycats.

Kawamura said nothing. He was already blissfully unaware on the floor with a nosebleed, after reading half of the story.

And as expected, Hyotei's captain always had the answer, even though it was doubtful if he was aiming for the same bulls-eye.

"Nothing's disgusting, brat. Ore-sama's magnetism simply transcends gender and age."

"Great. Then keep your cucumber away from my cactus, Monkey King. Preferably in Antarctica."

Sincerity versus sarcasm was a draw in this instance, the balance tipped only by arrogance. And in this case, Atobe had more of it. Topped with a Grade A+++ smirk.

The result was wiped out by an irked Echizen firing off one last potshot at him, pricking his pride and unintentionally stinging almost everybody present.

"Besides, I'm only interested in those I haven't beaten. Mada mada dane."

And with that bite of bitter relish, the Seigaku prodigy strode towards the exit and stormed out. None of Seigaku's other players were certain of whether to follow after or just leave him alone. After all, they'd never experienced the flare of animosity that he'd displayed just now, which resulted in musical statues.

"Even the author's end-notes that it's a parody with everything just being a dream is lost on him, isn't it?"

"Shut up, Yuushi. You've gone too far."

"Hey Gakuto, you were the one that called him 'Uke Boy', _remember_? Uh, where's-"

"Atobe-buchou going?" exclaimed Choutarou, watching his captain disappear out of the room.

Quickly running one hand through his hair, Fuji sighed. It might be better to try and make Echizen feel less rattled by the entire episode. After all, given what Horio-kun told him about their classes, he wouldn't be surprised if their little pillar had slept through biology and sex education. And when all was said and done, an Echizen oblivious and inexperienced to many things outside of tennis was too young to read that type of fiction about himself without freaking out.

Damn the library.

* * *

How dare he? A volcano had erupted in his chest. Atobe Keigo was furious. He'd taken many things in stride. Being beaten by a brat was one thing. His head being shaven was another thing. Gakuto exchanging the school flag with his pinstriped boxer shots was another thing. Being told by said talented brat that he was not worthy of interest as a rival anymore, in front of his team? Unforgivable. He was not Atobe Keigo, if he did not make the brat realise how wrong that one was. Oddly enough, the memory of certain expressions on a few Seigaku regulars hovered at the back of his mind, refusing to go away.

What the Hyotei captain didn't know was that he wasn't the only one remembering the hurt on Momoshiro Takeshi, Kaidoh Kaoru and Oishi Shuichiro's faces. And the discomfort it raised. When mixed with guilt twinges of leaving abruptly three days after the Nationals without informing his teammates, the only solution seemed to be gaining some space until everything was sane enough to a certain someone's rationale for possibly undertaking an apology. Preferably tonight, before the shuffle matches started tomorrow.

But that wasn't THE problem. Reading the fanfiction reminded him of it. Maybe it was the milk. Maybe it was the return to/from America. Maybe- Ryoma was used to Samurai Nanjiroh's addiction to the porno magazines, and usually ignored the pulp trash after one glance. But lately, he had done something unusual. After winning the Nationals and in America, he'd found himself leafing through a discarded copy that was more than a year old. And the models no longer seemed big or scary or comical or ridiculously proportioned. They were- He was unable to look away from the explicit poses that revealed too much body parts. And before he knew it, he was at the last page.

And he detested himself. Something had stirred uncomfortably, making him instinctively cross his legs and sit there until the oddly stiff but restless feeling wore off. After that, for two nights in a row, Ryoma greeted the sunrise with two anomalies: rumpled sheets and sticky stains on his underwear. He couldn't remember what he had dreamt about, if he had ever dreamt in the first place. And girls were no longer completely repellent, with him going so far as to watch a rock chick cross the street in the Bronx before he caught himself. Was this part of growing up? Was this a sign of the hormones and puberty his irritating dad had always yakked about?

Fuck, he did not want this. He had just found himself in tennis, and now life had decided to throw another screwball his way? Two things were clear in his immediate future: More laundry and a lot of venting through tennis. No more of his dad's magazines. And no way in hell would he get topped. If anyone was doing any topping, it would be him. But that was completely irrelevant. He was Prince of Tennis. He would devote himself to-

"Hoi, brat!"

There was no pause. In fact, he sped up.

"Coward, Echizen Ryoma!"

That mocking tone was reason enough to slam on the brakes. Spinning around, the shorter boy glared at the other like a swatter with a fly. They were almost at the end of the long corridor, sizing each other up like infectious diseases. Blue and hazel clashed, blinked and held.

"Go back to babysitting your squad, Monkey King."

But Atobe was unfazed. His rival was feistier than normal, which signaled uneasiness. Oh yes, his insight was never wrong. Well, apart from the time when he'd walked in on Shishido and Choutarou after their mock wrestling match in the locker room and assumed the worst. They'd both yelled at him.

"Buchou! You pervert! Give Kabaji-kun a foot massage and see what we say about it, **alright**?"

Ordering both to do a hundred laps around the tennis court did nothing to salvage a bruised ego.

And what came out next was rather unexpected.

"After you apologise to your seniors for your choice of words, brat."

This moron obviously didn't understand limits. His temples were starting to throb like the metronome on a piano. A headache appeared unavoidable. Echizen was now severely irritated. He wanted to be alone for the time being. In fact, why had he even bothered to stop?

"None of your business. You've got some nerve to try to boss me."

Oh yes, for that one thing-

"And don't use my name!"

The taller teenager stepped closer, not flinching despite the heated dynamo in front of him. He was used to calling the shots and being obeyed, even if insolent pests didn't know better. And he would wager that this brat had stopped not because of the name, but the label before it. Being ordered by someone younger than him, and a competitor to boot, was too rich. And that is when he noticed the shape of hostility framed by sparse but long lashes, almost feminine in curvature and especially at the corners. Those eyes narrowed dangerously like a cat about to claw, changing the shade from a subdued stubbornness to- Shaking his head, one hand shoved the boy against the wall.

A wicked idea had just taken hold. Uncapping the water bottle he had filched earlier from Jirou, Atobe took a sip, swished the liquid around in his mouth and then swallowed.

"Do you know who you're talking to, _Echizen Ryoma_? Ore-sama doesn't listen to a brat like you, _Echizen Ryoma._ In fact, Echizen _Ry-o-ma-_"

They both stared at each other; Atobe because he was surprised at Echizen Ryoma, and Ryoma because he was surprised at himself.

Karupin. He missed Karupin. He missed stroking the cat's head, holding him in his lap, rubbing that plump belly until she purred louder than the sprinklers in the neighbour's garden. He missed the comfort derived from such simple delights. And ever since he'd been to America, he hadn't seen Karupin because- The way Monkey King said his name reminded him.

He was reminded of stroking and cuddling, mewing sweetly. He was reminded of smooth serenity, silky comfort wrapping itself around him, leaving a pleasantly warm lump in his chest. Secure and soft and safe, unless he fell asleep holding the cat and accidentally rolled over to squash his beloved pet, which resulted in a few scratches that were laughed at. At this point, the lump was in his throat. And he had to resist the urge to be patted on the head or scratched between the ears, or something similar. What was he thinking? At this rate he would turn INTO Karupin.

And it was unnerving. For a moment, he wanted to be Karupin. What was that? The realisation that he had found **his **voice (Of! All! People!) alluring enough to want to-

A certain somebody invading his private space mentally and physically + unsettlement from reading *!* = lashing out = salve.

"You freak. Don't do that thing with your voice!"

For twenty seconds, Atobe Keigo was speechless. If he didn't know better... He could have been seeing someone without makeup. Bare. Wistful. Eyes widening before misting over, chin losing defiance and mouth drifting opening slightly... A spot had been hit, but the brat did not appear to be seeing him. Damnit! What was the fixation with this guy's eyes? Why did this not-so-expressive brat suddenly have such expressive eyes? That lightly shrill protest shattered odd musing. Possible hysteria. Definitely flustered. Insults getting weaker. The upper hand was his. Oh yes. Hm. _Hmm._ **Hmmm**. How to get the brat fired up enough to want to play against him again? The diabolic urge was not yet fully exorcised. And he went with it.

"Don't do _what_, Echizen Ryoma?"

And the pillar of Seigaku was anything but steady, feeling more like Quaker oats. What was Monkey King up to, making his voice slower and deeper and using emphasis that sounded like running cream? Talk about low blows. And why the hell was it getting on his nerves so fast? Flashbacks of what he'd read in the library shot through his mind, and he grimaced. His body felt funny, as if it was trying to crawl and run at the same time, the skin being too tight to contain pin-prickling stretchiness beneath. It suddenly made him uneasy to be in unwanted limelight. If Hyotei Gakuen was a pimp squad, Atobe was definitely qualified to lead. This one was standing too close. He had enough craziness for one day. He was bailing, no matter how undignified it seemed. This situation was icky. It was-

Sweet. Grape.

Eh? Ehh? EHHHHHHHHHH?

It had been less than five seconds. Eyes opening, one devilish narcissist was rewarded with the owlish unblinking stare of a frozen target. Straightening up, he turned on his heel and strode off, laughter welling out loud and long. That experiment was tasteless but oddly reminiscent of crepe paper made from rose petals. And oh, the glee of-

"**ATOBE PIMPHO, I WILL POUND YOU IN THE DIRT WITH MY TENNIS!**"

Laughter subsiding into satisfaction and rounding the corner, the Atobe heir was contented enough with success not to respond to Echizen's english slurs. In turn, Echizen recovered fast enough to get to the end of the corridor and head in the opposite direction of the one who'd baited him, one hand savagely swiping across his lips. Hence they both missed the sight of a certain spectacled voyeur collapsing in a melodramatically undignified heap with a disbelieving murmur of "Iie, dataaaa-" just outside the library, as well as the boy next to him.

If looks could kill, Fuji Syuusuke would have slain Mizuki right after their match. As it was, he'd just discovered that he found someone more despicable than the unethical analyst who had tried to ruin Yuuta. And the most disturbing thing was... he himself could not understand why.

At least he knew why a sullen and aloof Echizen Ryoma glared so fiercely at Atobe Keigo, whenever they encountered each other over the next few days. But what he didn't know was why their junior (who could probably stare down a tiger) could not hold that one's gaze for long. And Seigaku's greatest trump card refused to even acknowledge the incident(s) inside and outside the library. Why?

And why did he care?

Sometimes, not even a prodigal genius could know everything.

* * *

**A/N**: Heh, the various ways of bonding. Hm, the cat thing... This gives me an idea about Yukimura Seiichi and Echizen Ryoma.


	2. Catastrophe

**Disclaimer**: See the first chapter's disclaimer. Writing allows one to kill time without being penalised.

**A/N**: A warning of potential spoilers ahead for those of you who have not read the New Prince of Tennis chapters, especially chapters 4 and 5.

_**Catastrophe**_

Whew, escaped from the team.

They obviously meant well, but sometimes the combined idiosyncrasies of Seigaku's second and third-year tennis regulars was as tolerable as standing naked in front of a water cannon for way too long.

Hence he had chosen to head for an isolated, non-descript stairwell which would allow him to escape from Block C, without Inui-senpai realising until he could find a place for himself. Rooftops were over-rated, broom closets were crammed and stuffy, and rooms without keys were likely to have unexpected and unwelcome visitors at the most annoying times. This camp was too full of people.

The shuffle matches for today were over, most of the players were probably showering, and dinner would be served soon. But…

Echizen Ryoma wanted to find a place where he could sulk, nap or just lie back with any expression that he felt like having, without compromising on privacy. Preferably with a tree for a companion. At least they could give the silence he craved, without giving a damn about him. And he didn't have to give a damn about them. Knowing that Momoshiro-senpai had a broken wrist from that day's shuffle match had made the grape fanta tasteless. It wasn't fair. He wasn't any good at comforting his senior either, who did not want to be pitied. He wanted to get away from the reminder of his own helplessness. Quickly descending down the stairs, each step was a beat that helped dictate the rhythm of his thoughts, which was currently all awry.

Playing tennis was fun. He had great seniors. But occasionally, he was tired of being the trump card. Tired of being fussed over like a child. Tired of being the coin that decides it all. Tired of indulging his seniors' babysitting quirks and teasing. Hearing Kikumaru-senpai suggesting how cute he would look in pink diapers and a matching pacifier had led to the current situation. To be treated only in extremes... Just once, he would like to be seen as-

"Mreow~"

What? He could not believe his ears. Pets were disallowed. Peeking over the edge of freshly-painted cement to look one floor below, he saw a cat. Bluish-grey coat. Black-tipped tail and paws. Too old to be a kitten, too young to be a fully-fledged adult. Nevermind that it was nestling in the arms of a standing individual. He was sorely reminded of Karupin's absence, and his own compulsions. His hands itched to touch the fur. Tiptoeing down the last flight of steps but not fully leaving the building, hands pressed against the wall, he stole another look.

Clad in a dark blue jacket and track pants while surrounded by concrete urbanisation towering to the sky, the person's back looked vaguely familiar, and pleasantly unrecognisable humming made Echizen feel awkward for spying. But at this point, everything was fuzzy except for the bundle of mewling sweetness in that one's arms. Then the unknown turned around, to plant oneself cross-legged on the floor in one smooth movement. A hand tenderly gliding across the back of the feline in his arms, lingering on certain spots to finger almost-silvery fur, that one looked up.

Yukimura Seiichi had to restrain himself from going "fufufu".

To have the current number one tennis player in Japan's junior-high rankings shyly peering at him like a hypnotised moon-struck calf was a sight to behold, given how snarky and unflappable Tezuka-san's chosen pillar usually was. Or to be more exact, sensing the focus from shiny, unblinking eyes directed at the purring warmth in his possession, it was amusing. And touching. And in that moment, Rikkai Dai's captain knew he had grasped an important truth about his rival that people generally forgot about those blessed with outstanding talent and strength like themselves, as simple as the first experience of tennis being fun that so many had lost along the way.

It was in moments of weakness, such as an obvious fondness for cats, that Echizen Ryoma revealed himself: A boy of twelve, who was not all about tennis and merely human.

Aware that if he were to prolong this fragile revelation a while longer and indulge a curious whim that had sprung up from nowhere, it would require innocently careful restraint. The cat was lowered into the lap. The hint of a smile never left Yukimura's face, tilting a little bit more. None of the realised epiphany altered his body language.

"Want to hold her?"

Echizen could not believe his luck. He had just identified the girly teenager who stole his senses through terrifyingly monstrous skill in the final match at the Nationals. The cat liked- Disbelief warred with impulse. But there was nothing more in that one's demeanor, merely an open frankness underlined by a gesture of kind generosity. Hesitantly inching forward, he considered refusing. But she was looking at him…

"Mreow~"

Squatting on his haunches, one hand and then the other slowly extended while never looking away from his objective, he answered with a purr of his own.

He did not see one neat eyebrow elevated slightly, or the tinge of surprise that rose and faded as quickly as it surfaced on the other boy's face. All he could see was a pair of startling green eyes that didn't back down from his stare. This had to be a Russian Blue cat, given the features. As the eyes opened wider and were kissed by rays of the weak afternoon sun, emerald green irises became more vivid, emerging as a greater contrast within pale lemon-green sclera. Like an alien sunburst- So beautiful- He forgot to inhale.

Yukimura was fascinated. The youth in front of him was transformed, face alight with a strangely feverish intensity while coaxing and purring and ever so still. He did not break the quiet, preferring to study this oddity who'd come from America. He was willing to bet that the other was not usually fond of conversation, hardly stepped out of a very tiny circle of familiarity, preferred solitude and might be- maybe- Somewhat like him. The cat in his arms had her ears pricked up and shifted forward, finally rising from her languorous repose. Haughtily stepping over his calves and padding over to the other, she was obviously interested. Sniffing first one hand and then the other, there was no objection as she was gathered and lifted into a different pair of arms. Seeing the way their mutual object of affection was being handled, he had no doubt that Echizen Ryoma was experienced with cats. One proud creature liking another proud creature, hm… They were very similar beneath the skin. Unpredictable, exotic and uncontainable.

Suddenly aware that he was making all the noise, Ryoma was uncomfortable. Quickly glancing upwards, he saw that the other boy had a serene expression; head was slightly cocked to one side, and was that a hint of approval in the smile? The words were hurried, as if to compensate for earlier disregard of the Rikkai Dai captain's presence. "How do you know it's a she?"

"While talking to the caretaker of this place, he told me about his cat. Apparently she loves roaming, and coming back to this camp at least once a week. Habit."

"Oh."

"You're pretty good with cats. Own one?"

Unaware that he was mimicking Yukimura and sinking into a cross-legged position to face the other boy, Ryoma ran one hand very gently along the underside of the belly, fingers carefully caressing and tracing random numbers. She rolled over, forelegs shaking in the air and eyes squinching shut, thus allowing him to continue his ministrations.

"Yeah. Karupin. Himalayan Spotted. Likes strawberry milkshakes. Comes when not expected, and doesn't come when enticed. A proud, lovely brat. Heh."

And that is when Ryoma realised Yukimura Seiichi must also be experienced with cats, if this one was able to charm a strange feline into the arms and keep her so relaxed. What he didn't realise was that the captain was the first person who had managed to get him in the first non-competitive interaction to a) Express more than usual and b) Not about tennis. And now he was curious."You're good with cats too. What's yours?"

"Chartreux breed. I named her Simbul. Has a fetish for sea urchin ice-cream, and is lovable most of the time. Except when she throws a tantrum; lord help me…"

"Hehe. I can imagine." By now, the russian blue was lying on her side and rubbing her head against Ryoma's inner thigh. Even through the cloth, it tickled. She yawned. He could not resist grinning. And layer by layer, he was unpeeling himself. Or perhaps it was meeting a mutual cat-enthusiast. Or more simply, Yukimura understanding psychology the way a chess-master reads the board. And as with any cunning chess player, the fishing line was casually unreeled a little more.

"Oh? What can you imagine?"

"Calm, gentle, fair-tempered. Smart. Adept. Can be quite predatory when in the mood, as seen in your tennis."

A soft chuckle was sufficient reply. The curve of flawless lips twitched. "You flatter me. If owners resemble cats, then you'd be… a most unusual Himalayan. Rare in temperament, gentility, not always tricky and I would not call you dependent. Unless…" Trailing off, the finish was left to the imagination.

Such an observation was as jarring as being conked with a latrine pot. Ryoma was caught off-guard by the potential of deeper truth lurking within the general description. Embarrassed, he felt as if two hot coins had been pressed to his face. A sheepish laugh was accompanied by self-consciously scratching the back of his cap. Unnamed russian blue wriggled in his lap, potentially bored at no longer being the center of attention.

"Yadda."

Hm. His study subject might attempt to flee. He would have to stall. So Yukimura began to hum, gaze fixed on the cat, and Ryoma remembered the melody as the tune he had heard just now.

He did not interrupt, patiently waiting for the other boy to end. By then, nerves had been soothed and tranquility had been restored, all notions of abruptly leaving abandoned. He was sated, as if he had drank a month's supply of grape fanta. The ground was refreshingly cool. The sound was somewhat catchy in an offbeat way.

"What tune is that?"

"Guemja's Prayer from the Sympathy For Lady Vengeance movie. My latest conversion practice piece on the piano. Tortured my family for a week before it became recognisable. Do you play?"

Shaking his head in bemusement and resisting the urge to cackle at sardonic wryness in that explanation, Ryoma confessed to being somewhat musically challenged. "Nope. Only instrument I ever touched was a trumpet in first grade, and that was, er, an ear-opener. Tou-san and kaa-san called me a one-note wonder, and always laughed when I played. Like this." So saying, he raised two hands in the air as if cupping a trumpet, eyes crossed and cheeks puffed up, mouth puckered with the lower lip protruding slightly.

A most undignified snort greeted his imitation of childhood. That sound bloomed into uneven laughter, bruising the air with its unconcealed roughness. Head thrown back and holding his sides, the teenager indulged himself for a few seconds longer, before finishing with a deep-throated chuckle. "Ryoma-kun, I would've liked to see that." He did not see the boy holding on to the cap with one hand despite lack of wind, eyes large and blinking, lips parted in surprise, the other resting on silvery fur.

The Seigaku representative could not deny what he had just seen: There was nothing girlish about Yukimura Seiichi in this instance.

That image was interrupted by a hasty exclamation. "Ah, my apologies, Echizen-san. I shouldn't have addressed you so cas-"

"Geez, are you always so Inui-sempai-polite? That's ok."

The mumbling was laden with an undercurrent of irritation. But the downcast eyes were even more telling. Whew. Maybe the boy wonder hadn't noticed that Yukimura had forgotten himself enough to address him too familiarly. He was pleased at the progress but mortified with himself. However, he also did not like Echizen Ryoma suddenly directing so much attention to the grains of dirt on the flagstones. So he changed tack.

"Very well. You were so happy to see and touch that cat. Are you missing Karupin?"

This guy's insight was nosier than the monkey king. How had he guessed? Ryoma started contemplating how to exit without being too rude. Ah, why bother? He would answer and find an excuse to leave. After all, what was one more moment of disclosure, after the lot he had given away just now?

"After I came back from America and before I came to this camp, I didn't get to see Karupin because, well, she's…"

The voice dropped. Yukimura leant forward.

"At the vet. Under observation, after treatment of a certain condition. Should be nothing, but the parents want to be sure."

Eyes closing and taking a deep breath, hunched shoulders straightened. Brooding sullenness evaporated like curtains being ironed, as Yukimura counted the seconds. Then eyes opening, the younger boy looked at him. And the Child of God found himself staring at the Prince of Tennis. Hazel eyes were now a brilliant hue, cap poking up, face artfully blank and with an imperious tilt to the chin. A smile lurked about that pursed mouth, which grew into a smirk.

"Not surprising that you'd sometimes need some space to de-stress from your wacky team. Lucky the cat was here, eh?"

A wave of- Yukimura licked his lips. They were dry? Just like that, something had been cut. He had learnt more about his most interesting opponent than he had anticipated. But why wasn't he happier? Distant drone of a few voices reached him, faint and varied. The little figures looked familiar. Speak of the devils-

"Thanks for recovering from your illness, so I could beat you at the Nationals. Mada mada da ne."

Audacity sparked off minor outrage. This brat was sometimes too-

"Before you go, ah, what should I call you?"

Ah. Tartness to balance mellowing? Pausing in mid-crouch as he rose, seeing the other boy politely averting his eyes, his smile was fleeting but it held a rare sweetness. Ryoma did not notice. And shrugging, Yukimura murmured, "Seiichi is fine."

With that, a bond was agreed on without mention.

The voices and footsteps were getting a bit louder. It was time for him to go too, as his seniors would be worrying about him, especially Oishi-senpai. As his friend walked past him, the shorter teenager saw a hundred yen coin on the ground. He opened his mouth but fumbled at using the name, not comfortable with it. "Er, Sei- Yu-" However, the other boy heard, and turned.

Perhaps Ryoma had moved too fast, attempting to stand while pins and needles took up his entire left calf. Or perhaps the movement had been too awkward and his grip was insufficient, for the cat hissed and bolting out of his hold, did a U-turn and shot between his legs. Grabbing for her as she vaulted to the ground and missing, Ryoma found himself off-balance and for a few seconds, attempted not to pitch forward and embrace the dirt. Trying to give himself a more stable base in a wider stance, he shifted his right leg and accidentally hooked something.

Yukimura had given up on the cat that was streaking away and moving towards his friend, was about to catch the precariously positioned boy by the shoulders to steady him, when he suddenly felt a hard tug at his right ankle. Wind-milling both arms, he would have succeeded in staying upright, except for the unexpected impact against his left ankle sweeping stability away.

Realising that he would lose to gravity, Ryoma landed on his front and hands pressed against the ground, rolled to his left and flopped onto his back to avoid squashing a cat whose whereabouts he wasn't sure of. He looked up- The sky was falling-

" 'Mura-buchou! THERE YOU- **YAHHHHHHHH!**"

Stopping too soon and hopping in retreat, Kihihara Akaya succeeded in bursting a blueberry bubble, showering himself and his senior with bits of gum. Marui Bunta began to choke, as he inhaled quickly and whacked his junior across the head at the same time. Yanagi Renji was transfixed. Jackal's eyes were almost bulging out of their sockets, but he managed to get his hands over Sanada's eyes. His reward? The vice-captain jerked back an elbow in retaliation, which left the defense master doubled over in pain. Yagyuu gave Niou a most ungentlemanly shove backwards, resulting in the trickster toppling unceremoniously onto his butt. A lot of swearing would have taken place, except that he then saw what the others had.

The sky is too damn heavy and I've lost my cap-

The sun- Blinding-

_Why? _

Petrified darkness stared into dazed haziness, and was mirrored in turn.

Limbo was shattered by a burst of light. With a grunt of pain, Yukimura Seiichi fell onto his side and his grip flew off the other boy, as hands shoved at his chest. Covering a very sensitive area protectively and lying in mid-curl while silently enduring the sharp throb of agony, he could only watch a flustered boy scramble to his feet, snatch up the fallen cap, and tear past his teammates.

Echizen Ryoma ignored the stab of conscience, unbecoming colour reddening his cheeks, as well as the memory of his knee used for violent self-preservation. His body was on autopilot, while his mind had fled into a vacuum. What. The. Two captains in two days. Was this camp jinxed? Monkey King's maneuver had left him stunned. Cat Lover had inflicted a paralysis more terrifying than the other's World of Ice. He didn't understand. He now wanted to beat something up with a tennis racket, preferably both captains. And to save himself, he no longer dwelt on what had happened.

He needed to meet up with his seniors for dinner.

"Buchou, you alright?"

"Buchou, what were you doing?"

"Buchou, what the hell?"

"Yukimura-kun, please explain."

Sighing, he pulled himself up as the last twinges of pain faded. An abandoned captain closed his eyes and took a deep breath. At least a minute passed, before he opened them. And resigning himself, gave a highly expurgated version of the truth while hoping he wouldn't be mortally embarrassed. Little did he realise that in this camp, it would be one of the last few times he was addressing his team as a whole, before the camp's mental coach pulled off a very cruel tactic of elimination less than three days later.

* * *

The mess hall was buzzing with conversation from the various teams present. Over the clinking of cutlery and occasional sneezing fit, alliances were taking place, plots hatched, strategies raised and mischief planned. Amidst subdued chaos, two data masters were having a most interesting conversation.

"Look."

Light gleaming off the frame of his glasses, Seigaku's most feared juicer followed his ex-doubles partner's gaze.

A junior who had ignored his daily milk intake was heading to dump his tray, while a certain captain was going to join his teammates with dinner at their table. They encountered each other in the main aisle that divided one side of tables from the other lot. Stopping approximately seven steps from each other, both were expressionless as they eyed the other. The not-so-nonchalant pause was almost missed.

Echizen Ryoma stepped to his right, just as Yukimura Seiichi shifted to his left. Halting, the Seigaku player moved back to the same spot, only to find that he was being uncannily copied. The Rikkai Dai captain remained still, so that the other could move past. Then both realised they were waiting for the same reason.

"Che" was the only fitting retort, uttered with light exasperation but lightened by mirth tugging at the corners of the lips. He was answered by a soft snicker escaping the other's politeness. They were unaware that more than two teams were watching. For a moment, there was something easy in the flow, as if shutters had been tweaked. Friends? Too reserved, small and comfortable to be anything more. And then they were walking past each other with perfect composure, before anything could be dissected.

But if anyone could have read their minds, or if those two could have done so to each other, they might be pleasantly surprised. Idly meandering to anything where mental sojourns were concerned, one thing was clear.

It was not how dumbstruck both were, at finding themselves accidentally having lip contact with another guy. Neither was there confusion over how they wound up in that position in the first place, legs enclosing legs, jackets rumpled, careless pressure, and fitting non-perilously against each other. And it was definitely not about a certain shade of shyness manifesting in a burning darkness of the eyes, while their gazes had held. Nor was it the fact that the event had flashed through their minds, and was left alone without protest. Blanket, meet quilt. Quite simply, it was all in the hands.

Where there had been contact, one could still feel the imprint of warmth. And something else. Nameless. Shapeless. But still there. Which could wait for another day.

For now, it was just tennis.

* * *

**A/N**: Hm, given the turn of events in STnOS chapter 5, any 3rd chapter for this fanfic might take a while to come up. Have to analyse who might be left, in order to write accordingly.


	3. CoJsojs

For disclaimers, I turn to non-profit chocolate cookies that may or may not inspire this exercise of er, something.

**A/N**: I made a slight tweak to the previous chapter, so that this and the next chapter will take place before ah, people start squaring off in the latest chapters of the New Prince of Tennis manga. Writer's block is not kind. Blame it on Tezuka being incredibly difficult to get into, which might make a bored Niou mean, so this is the end result for a short intermission.

**CoJsojs**

"Hey Marui-senpai, is it possible to juggle bubble gum balls?"

"Hngh."

"If I mix them with some plaster, maybe the balls will remain solid enough?"

"Gngh."

"What's that mean?"

"Kirihara-kun, Marui will not contribute any gum, should you feel like experimenting."

"Why not?"

"That's because he can't," Niou cut in, ice-smooth eyes twinkling while looking incredibly kind. Jovial amiability was enough to put Yagyuu on edge. Rikkai Dai's captain and vice-captain were engaged in their own private conversation and wisely staying out of this one, because they recognised that expression.

The trickster had done something diabolical again. And the tightrope tensai was close to erupting.

"Whhhhhhhhhhhy not?"

"If you keep that up, you'll be a one-note wonder tempting someone to put you out of commission with a well-timed swat of the racket."

"Niou." Jackal hoped his teammate would get the hint and lay off the sing-song half-teasing. But with experience, he knew that it wouldn't suffice. The only person capable of stopping Niou with that same method would not intervene until things escalated to the nth degree.

For his part, Niou Masaharu ignored their junior's babysitter. He was bored. He had been bored for the past few days. Even with tennis, this camp was still too boring. So he decided to entertain himself.

"Kiri-bo, your Marui-senpai can't… because Hyoutei's Volley-Wonderboy has taken all his gum and won't give it back."

Interested in the juicy secret he sensed behind those words, the second year ace let the belittling honorific slide. "That narcoleptic nong? Isn't he usually asleep?"

Yanagi was confused but analytically precise, while pondering the situation. Was the first year Hyoutei player even capable of getting Marui's gum AND keeping it away from him? Even if he could get the gum, why would he do it in the first place? And how did Niou know about it? At this point, there was 98% likelihood that the trickster had lent a helping hand, maybe even instigating it. Why? He probably wanted to amuse himself.

As if reading the data master's mind, Yagyuu asked the one question that he had no clue to. "Why would Akutagawa-san take and keep the gum, Niou-kun?"

Spinning a tennis ball on his left index finger, the answer was conveyed with a fiendish grin. "If Marui-kun can't find his gum by tonight, he loses the bet. And owes someone a day out. Will probably end in a match. Haven't you ever wanted to see them fight?"

Just then, the coach in charge of the middle school players announced the break would end in five minutes, and that they could take turns to play against each other for one point. He also said that the captains of the various teams could start by unanimously picking someone first and he could choose his opponent, the winner of that point could name the next pair, and the rest could go from there.

Hearing that, the captains from St. Rudolph, Hyoutei, Seigaku, Higa, Rikkai Dai, Rokkaku and Shitenhouji shuffled forth from their various corners and gathered in a loose circle. Conversation was selective and sparse, punctuated with shifts and shakes of the head. Within two minutes, they had made their choice.

About to nod off beneath his cap, their target found himself overshadowed by the dark cloud grouped before him. Sighing inwardly, he got to his feet, adjusted the cap, and looked around in puzzlement. Oishi had to quickly whisper the gist of what was to transpire.

Oh. He was supposed to pick. Who?

Doing a slow panoramic sweep, an ambivalent youngster took in the various individuals scattered everywhere, the wide array of sneakers present, a speck of bird(?) in the sky (and the lack of clouds), the cat slinking past the fence along one side of the tennis courts, the increasingly bored expressions on some players as well as the pretending-to-be-bored-but-not-really players, his own racket, and back to the captains.

Who would be best for a long exchange?

A splutter followed by lots of coughing broke his musing. Echizen caught sight of Kirihara Akaya being tickled by the ponytail-with-beads senior, before the second year ace was shoved almost face-first into another senior's chest. A collision was avoided at the last minute, as he was jerked to an abrupt stop just in time by his tormentor. Wow, the demon from Rikkai Dai could make very big and un-demon-like eyes. He couldn't hear what the spectacled senior said but judging from the tension in his posture, it probably was disapproval. Irritating cackle of the trickster dude who had played against Fuji-senpai- Their gazes met.

Green eyes flecked with a curiously repellant yellow did not waver. One eyebrow crooked, a cruel smirk resembling a sneer was almost rude in its taunting. Echizen got the impression that he was disliked, but didn't know why. Staying a bit longer, before shifting his gaze, he looked at the captains again. Easy neutrality of all sorts, and- He was just in time to catch slits of bone-chilling shadows that could freeze hellfire in its tracks, but was not directed at him. The recipient of THAT looked down, expression leached of vitality, and- The stiffness of one prankster was now a stark contrast to Yukimura Seiichi's relaxed demureness. Their ability to swap states in a few seconds so swiftly was fascinating. If he hadn't seen it, he wouldn't have known.

Lifting his racket, he went with his feet and pointed at his choice.

He would conquer a monster of monsters. Again.

But for some reason, he couldn't see that one as a monster any more. More like- Merely- A king.

Answering with an upturn quirk of the lips as he acknowledged Echizen, the Rikkai Dai captain got on the court at the same time as his rival. During the toss of the racket, one look said it all.

The best of one point, eh? Not if they could help it.

* * *

Being speared by a nail gun might be preferable to being skewered with the captain's reproach, if Niou had his way. And for an outsider to be the reason, instead of the pranks- He badly wanted to get on Tezuka's nerves in an immediate, satisfying and suitably similar way. Ah, the lift of the chin on that one, as someone else was picked- Awkwardness of reacting to being passed over was not hidden fast enough from him. Breaking away from his teammates, he decided to go for a short walk.

The complex mind of one Niou Masaharu was bored enough to speculate as to how many players present were Wonderbrat fans, how many might be hebephiles and how many had blurred both lines. There was also a sidetracked thought train on the best possible ingredients for peanut butter wasabi ice-cream.

And he found himself almost next to his target.

Hm, how to have some fun…

The sun was suddenly not as glaring. Kneeling to fix his shoelace and quickly peering up over his glasses, Tezuka Kunimitsu recognised the person providing unexpected shade. Of all the opponents not from his school team, this Rikkai Dai player made him the most uncomfortable. Fuji (when that one chose to) was unreadable, but at least there wasn't a chance of malice lurking. This mimic however, was completely different. A loose cannon, possibly a basket case, and definitely not here for a good reason. If he could guess, it might have to do with Yukimura's-

"Your little pillar made a good choice, to spar with our captain."

No response. So Niou prodded harder.

"So how did it feel, captain, to be passed over for another captain?"

Still no response. But Niou noted that Tezuka was taking a little too much time tying a knot.

"Will you still be his captain, if this goes on?"

Rising to his feet, Tezuka kept his stare fixed on the court. Ryoma had just added a vicious momentum to the return, which Yukimura had no trouble intercepting and whacking back with a modified spin. He flinched inside, realising his voice was coming out a little hoarse.

"Is there a point to your pestering?"

"Why yes, _captain_."

Smooth, dark, rich as an unfurling oil slick and leaning forward, Niou was about to cap the bitter chocolate with a cherry. Along with a tribute to the peanut butter wasabi ice-cream recipe he had just finished composing.

"With regards to topping… I wonder who'll get the thrust of it."

What? Maybe it was the tickling of his ear (like a feather ghosting across the grass, fingers in hay, a warm breath of summer, or a tongue barely making contact). Maybe it was the proximity. Maybe- Tezuka nearly leapt away from the other guy. But with moderation from his inner cool, he merely hopped. Even then, it was enough to get the attention of quite a few people. No one else could have heard the trickster. He did not like the directions his own thoughts were taking. Was he being hit on? This guy was...! And he was pretty damn sure this one was attempting to screw around with his mental state. The frustration of not quite being able to react without being un-Tezuka-like was building, and he could see that the other knew it. Those eyes held a discomfiting glint. What might have passed for a friendly smile with a shark's gleam of teeth was on the other's face, except that it never quite reached the eyes.

Oishi was wondering if their captain was starting to go a little red from the sun. Fuji was considering various methods of intervening without causing serious casualties. Momoshiro was too busy whisper-fighting with Kaidoh to notice.

Yukimura had sent a topspin lob to his opponent.

The Seigaku captain was so adorably funny. Green eyes absorbed every bit of stiffness with relish.

_What will your next move be, Tezuka?_

Tezuka knew he was going to have to put a stop to this. He wasn't going to be intimidated by this punk. Time to draw the lin-

Before either one could move, a green blur rocketed between them at nose-level.

"Sorry, buchou," was Echizen's contribution. "The spin got out of hand."

Nobody was sure which two they should be watching. Both teenagers blinked, as the first-year freshman shrugged and walked to the net to shake hands with the victor. Hands clasped, brief smiles were exchanged, but there was a grittier edge to the one that Yukimura turned on the other two.

"Tezuka-kun, why don't you finish your conversation with Niou-kun on court?"

So saying, the two who had finished now traipsed off-court and towards their respective teammates.

Stepping onto familiar ground, Tezuka was no longer in turmoil. This time, he would make it punishingly clear to Niou Masaharu exactly who would be on top. When it came to the crunch, Echizen had proved that he would always be Seigaku's pillar.

But even as he ruthlessly took the one point, even as he named the next two to take their place, even as a defeated devil walked away with a slight satisfaction that niggled, a little detail kept flashing into place.

Solemn. Swift. Speechless. Nevertheless, an unmistakable connection. Echizen had revealed a sliver of expression at the net with Yukimura as they shook hands, and the Rikkai Dai captain had responded. And the descriptions that came to mind were not flattering: Stoic but pleading. Sweet but displeased.

A shower would be welcome to wash away the taint of speaking to someone he shouldn't have.

But no matter how much soap he used, it wouldn't cleanse his mind.

* * *

**A/N**: And no matter how much soap I use, it won't cleanse my mind of the lameness that can result from writer's block. Yargh. Luckily, the bible of Shitenhouji comes to the rescue in the next chapter. If Echizen ever ends up with any of them in fanfic future, I still can't decide. Pffft.


	4. If the skies are not lined with cuckoos

**Disclaimers**: Don't own STnO, too distracted, yadda yadda yadda.

**A/N**: Hm, looks like it's time to catch up to the manga thus far. Trying to characterise a certain walking bible in here was not as difficult as I was dreading, which might just make him my favourite captain.

**If the skies are not lined with cuckoos, then it's**

Monsters.

The path to the First Court was no doubt littered with them, and remembering the brute that had broken Momo-senpai's wrist- He would need a way to counter those moves that the Zone could not. Even that could be neutralised by a monster, as Rikkai Dai's vice-captain had demonstrated against the Seigaku captain. And much as he hated to admit it, he was nowhere close enough to the skill level of Samurai Nanjiroh for even a shred of cold comfort. He was an underdog. What a time for Gekokujou.

Leaning against a tree and staring into the darkening sky, Echizen Ryoma could still feel the aftermath of today's shuffle matches haunting him. He was not invulnerable. He needed to get stronger, so much stronger before the camp sprang nasty surprises on them. The way things were going, it could even be tomorrow. And besides, he still had not beaten Fuji-senpai. They were bound to square off against each other at some point. So many types of spin from so many potential competitors, and he could not afford too much trial and error during the more crucial matches. He needed to break the flow much quicker than before. Eyes narrowing, the problem was grilled on the rotating spit of his brain like a roasted lamb.

Thin shadows lengthened and crept towards his shoes, becoming thicker and more irregular, much like the time he chose to play with Arai-senpai using a very worn-out racket. The late afternoon sunlight became more fragile, starting to bleed a reddish hue. Slowness of such encroaching radiance was similar to the first time he'd seen Momo-senpai in a match controlling and retaining the ball slightly longer than usual… the Jack Knife. A persistent, tinny sound that had stayed in the background bore its way into his contemplation. Looking over at the nearest wall, he saw a drop of water dripping from a tap into the metal sink. He'd been with his father at the waterfall just before the National Finals, and he had seen those tiny plops carving into the rock-

Leaping to his feet, the glimmer of an idea took hold and stayed. Hoisting up his racket and fingering the two balls in his left pocket, Echizen needed to find the wall in a space that was private enough and most similar to the surface of those tennis courts.

~*~*~*~*~

The mood in the mess hall was not that great, as rumours swirled and anxiety mounted about future shuffle matches possibly turning serious with the goal of elimination. Shiraishi Kuranosuke wasn't very hungry, so he made an entrance to encourage his squad, and nimbly ducked out again. Maybe if he ran twenty laps around two tennis courts, some appetite would be forthcoming.

At least that was the excuse his brain gave his stomach, as he left the somber atmosphere behind. Oh wait, he had to get a water bottle and a towel. Heading back towards the dormitories on the fourth floor, the angry smack of a ball bouncing off somewhere below caught his attention. Looking over the left railing, he saw nothing. Sticking his head out the other side, he saw a familiar cap on a certain somebody's head.

What nailed the onlooker's attention was what the other boy did, standing almost a half-court distance from the wall. After hitting the ball hard against the wall three or four times, he would pivot neatly on one foot and make a complete turn with his body. Halfway through the turn, he switched to a two-handed grip on the racket, which followed the arc of his body. Left hand to receive, right hand a follow-up to stabilise and strengthen? Hm. Such a modified interception of the ball led to it hitting the wall much more gently than before. When that happened, the boy would stop. There would be a pause, flexing of the left wrist as if trying to determine something, and stretching both arms before he tried again.

It might be hilarious, except for the grace and precision with which that one moved, while making minor adjustments every time. And since this was the unprecedented champion who had come up with incredible ideas like Cool Drive, 'B' Drive and being able to return Kintarou-kun's ultimate craziness, Shiraishi had a feeling that whatever was being tested would be another terrific addition to the world of tennis. That is, if one had the skill to pull off this unknown move.

Sensing alien scrutiny like a telescope aimed at his hands, Echizen Ryoma glanced around, and then looked up.

A spotted captain had to stifle the urge to grin. This fellow reminded him of a cat with its fur all fluffed up, ready to spring (or smash the ball at his face). The disdainful expression was anything but welcoming. He was intrigued.

"Yo, want a hand?"

"No."

Casually jogging down several flights of stairs, he caught up with the departing adolescent.

"Having trouble neutralising any type of spin, while trying to adapt and put your estimated power behind it in one move?"

That observation stopped Echizen in his tracks. No wonder Fuji-senpai had found this opponent difficult. Like his senior, this one was deceptively meek and too superficially well-behaved (at least until one saw the true colours of his senior; he wasn't sure it also applied to this guy), they were both analytical and too incisive. Hazel eyes stared unblinkingly at the taller teenager, jaw jutting rebelliously for a few seconds before relaxing, finally giving in with one arm drooping to the side.

"Yes."

"Alright. How about I hit the balls to you? A wall's not real enough."

"What do you want?"

Hm. Talk about curt. How did Tezuka control this Ecstasy rookie? When Echizen Ryoma wasn't verbalising arrogance (and like Atobe, had more than enough substance to back that trait up), the alternative was sounding distrustful. Clipped responses were too dismissive to be moody. Shiraishi knew some people pointedly preferred action to talk, but they didn't normally come with shells similar to a hedgehog or ant-eater. Oh well, he'd just disarm the ticking tantrum.

"Maybe a match after this camp, but no harm meant. If I somehow went too far, that wasn't intentional."

A cheerful smile was as calming as a bucket of water being dumped over Echizen's head. The realisation of his behavior possibly being ridiculous was deflating. He had to resist pulling his cap further over his eyes or stuffing his hands in his pockets. Why didn't he dropkick the guy down a well, while he was at it? Just because this one was a captain, it didn't mean- Heck, out of all the other school captains so far, this guy might just be the most useful at this point. Besides, they'd be one tennis court apart. And they didn't have much time because as evening came on and from the first day's experience, any lights around the courts would be too faint for any practice. Not forgetting that there were maintainers to shoo all players off the courts, before locking the gates.

Fixing his stare, he hoped he wasn't frowning. One hand shoved the brim of the cap higher. He knew he wasn't in the mood to smile, so how did one look somewhat receptive while- Ah, stuff it. His reply stopped the older youth, who had just turned away and was about to retreat up that same flight of stairs.

"Ok. Go get your racket."

Jogging up the stairs while raising a hand in acknowledgment, Shiraishi was buoyed by a little spark of triumph. This promised to be most interesting. And in the process, he was sure to gain more for his repertoire.

Both wasted no time in finding an empty court and taking up their respective places. In not too many words, Echizen grudgingly indicated that he would welcome feedback. And for a while, Shiraishi got to unleash various types of spin with his balls, while Echizen tried to intercept. After a few minutes, the first-year freshman was flooded with data.

"As you reach 180 degrees, lower the center of gravity before coming up again. Think of the gekokujou player from Hyotei, and how he responds in the counter-attack. Why does he move that way? You can't completely nullify the spin, but you can re-direct the ball to a certain extent so that you can place your own influence on it."

After another minute or two, the Bible spoke again. All he received in return was a grunt.

"Your right hand is marginally better at precision, while your left hand definitely wins at power. Use the right to intercept, and the left to control the second half of the move so that you can strengthen whatever your intended move is. But if you're going to take a powerful attack from the likes of Gin or try for a soft shot like Marui Bunta's Tightrope Walking, you might want to do it the other way around. It'll involve a bit of trial and error during a match."

Anybody of a lesser courage might have found the relentless quest for perfection a wee bit intimidating. Echizen merely took it in stride, and his only form of reaction was to get better at execution.

"Your right wrist needs to be a bit more relaxed and flexible in the first half, while your left wrist needs to control the movement a bit more in the second half. Skilled steering is not about jamming on the brakes; it involves careful pressure while changing the course."

The Shitenhouji captain really was a rulebook of sorts; he could practically create the commandments of tennis, or at least have a hand in it. As it was, every detail of piercing insight in quicktime added up like a stack of dominoes. And like a stack of dominoes yielding to the tension, combined with the effects of today's shuffle matches, Echizen's tried and tired patience had been restructured too finely to the limit.

"You just need a bit more practice- Woah!" Yelped Shiraishi as he dodged, being unprepared for the viciousness of the volley finally being wonderfully returned. But it had nothing to do with the move that the other boy was aiming to perfect.

"My turn to start." And without waiting, Echizen pulled out a ball from his pocket to take the initiative with his right hand. He needed release from the strenuous monotony of attempting perfection.

Stepping forward into the path of the twist serve, it was easy to return the shot straight down the line on his extreme left side. Shitenhouji's captain was already drifting towards the center of the court in anticipation of where the return shot would land, when he saw his opponent hesitate.

The ball appeared to waver. Or perhaps it was his feet. Taking a step to the side, Echizen had to stop. Now he was rather sure that it was him. Closing his eyes, he sank into a sitting position. Being unused to trying to emulate a revolving door, maybe he had reached his limit under today's hot sun.

Shiraishi was thinking the same thing, as he lightly vaulted over the net and reached the youngster's side, going down on his haunches to release his racket and put a steadying hand on the other boy's back. He could feel the sweat-stained shirt sticky against his skin, and see the beads of moisture beading the forehead of somebody whose skin was a little too pale at this point to be healthy.

"I'm not cut out for ballet."

Echizen's dry attempt at humour was met with a smile that he didn't notice. That elicited reaction lingered, as Shiraishi chose to reciprocate with "At least you twirl fairly well?"

He was rewarded with a one-eyed baleful stare from Seigaku's pillar, along with barely suppressed irritation. "I'm not a fairy. Remove your arm."

About to retort while matching that stare with his own and withdrawing his support, that is when Shiraishi could not help randomness that often came easily to him. The leaf-shaped outline was fairly distinct, due to a naturally rich darkness that highlighted amber hostility contained within its boundary. Tipped at the corners and slanting just enough to be noticeable without being overdone, while lacking extra volume plumage in lashes, the other boy's eyes were almost pretty.

Yikes. "Did you have dinner?"

Echizen Ryoma was not about to confess that his current bout of dizziness could be partially attributed to something as trivial as a meal. To cover up the quiet rumble of his tummy that was threatening to give him away with increasing protest, he went with misdirection while looking away.

"Damn girls."

Huh? What did that have to do with now? Was that the real reason for the current mood, or inability to get this move right? Since he was the glue of the team that often solved any problems their nutty coach did not compound, Shiraishi was armed by habit to be rarely short of solutions. His mouth was ready with an answer, even as his brain tried to compute the most likely reason for Echizen's faltering with the greatest probability of being the truth. "Girls, huh? You could try talking to Chitose."

The other eye opened, and both pupils shifted upwards to match impudent tilt of the chin. "And if that was meant for guys?"

Shiraishi's return was equally smooth. "Then ask Hitouji or Konjiki."

The smirk that surfaced was unexpectedly annoying, along with an undignified sound from Echizen's nostrils that resembled a snort. And Shiraishi was irked. In comparison, Kintarou-kun was a breeze to manage. He could not stop himself.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Shirker."

Now he was really stung. Or at least he thought he was, as he glared down at the shorter boy and grabbed hold of a limp shirt collar. "Mind explaining yourself?"

The seated player blinked very slowly. And then shrugged. The dizziness had passed. This captain was too much like Samurai Nanjiroh at times, except that he verbalised more clearly without overly-cryptic camouflage. Echizen also did not like how he found himself always at a minor disadvantage, because this guy was too smooth. "When your basics are defied and pierced, you get wriggly. Too bad you can't always control the flow, and don't have all the answers."

Shiraishi could almost feel the spasm in his fingers. This boy took help badly, didn't he? What was his problem- Hm_. I'm taller. Leader of a squad_. _Could_ it be- Remembering certain gossip- The most improbable, and yet- "Are you always this thorny, or is the real issue related to at least two captains?"

No sooner had he finished saying that, his hand was slapped away. Shiraishi found himself almost falling backwards and rocked on his heels, suddenly steadied by the fist twisted in the fabric of his shirt and a knee prodding his chest. An avalanche of rocks might have produced the same effect as frankness from the Prince of Tennis.

"Your indirect worming for answers sucks. Thanks for the all-knowing tips, but quit manipulating me like a child."

And the Shitenhouji captain understood. Having to look up, he found himself almost wondering at how different this Echizen was. Eyes an arresting yellow in brittle anger, they did not detract from the bigger picture. And there was no need for lashes to add to the effect. From this angle, shadows cast by the changing light made his face narrower and leaner and hinted at the man he could become. When Echizen Ryoma got older, many girls would probably swoon with the restrained fire of his presence. Authority etched with a coolness that was beyond any child, shoulders erect, lips stretched in a thin line, the proud lift of that head reminded Shiraishi of a golden eagle.

Lofty, magnificent and sometimes misguided. Now he was REALLY stung. Certain statements from this- This- Ggngng- burned deep in his gut, mixed with the urge of meting out disciplinary action and possibly something more childishly knee-jerky. Rikkai Dai's captain wasn't the only psychology devil. He heaved.

The earth shuddered on its axis, as Echizen Ryoma felt the pull and push of the other's retaliation. Caught off-guard by unexpected viciousness and falling backwards into the lure of gravity, he did not look forward to the landing. That minor dread never came, as he suddenly found himself suspended above the ground. Something bony was against the small of his back, and- Blinking, a bewildered youth found himself looking into the face of a not-so-mild-mannered youth.

"Oh? Lucky you're not a girl, I'm not your boyfriend, and we're not in a relationship. Because-"

Even as that one spoke, Echizen found himself being lowered very gently. Maybe it was the words. Maybe it was his head not yet touching the relief of the ground. Maybe it was twitchy nervousness that he was starting to feel.

"You deserve a good spanking, plus I should have let your head split open like a melon."

How the hell did he even get into this? Why was there an elbow across his chest? A hand still under his neck- Now this guy's legs- between- Shit-

"You BRATling."

Even as he tensed in readiness to break free, Echizen was unable to move because that arm had become as heavy as an iron bar, pinning him down. Less than half a racket length separated their faces, and there was something in the other's attitude that made him want to coil into a ball. When completely devoid of light-heartedness, Shiraishi Kuranosuke was abnormal.

His weight was leanness defined, with no fat. The brown-eyed gaze was as steady as oak, lit by a tiny red gleam that defied labeling. Metallic glint of his spiky hair made him otherworldly and alien. Flinty and unsmiling, his face was an adult mask that could not be read. And it was coming too close-

"Sorry, no kiss from this captain. Unless you insist that you're not a kid."

The challenging statement was a punch to the gut, because it was dissension that Echizen Ryoma had no intention of pursuing. Mental flailing after hearing the nonsense from this captain was like thrashing water. Being manhandled for the third time in as many days blew the top off his temper, but before he could react, he found the offending physical imposition of the older boy gone and himself being pulled to his feet in one smooth motion. Making a fool of him, eh? Vengeance flooded him with a rage that demanded appeasing. But how- What about- Unless- No way- Argh. The next sentence from that captain made up his mind.

"Better go, before people start making jibes about Romeo and Julio."

Mm, Ecstasy. For his part, Shiraishi had to resist the urge to laugh, as well as a twinge of sympathy for the poor chap in front of him. Infuriating as this rookie was, he shouldn't have teased so badly. After all, he wasn't interested in kids, and he had no intention of kissing a guy. As he bent and picked up his racket, he found his wrist blocked by a lightly threatening tap from the other's racket and what sounded like an admonition.

"You say the dumbest things. But..." The sentence trailed off into an indistinguishable mumble.

He reflexively leant forward, curious.

The arm locked around his neck was not as surprising as sudden obscuring of his vision to all else, except for whatever was in contact. Like the mouth mashed on his. Stunned, the Shitenhouji captain nearly fell over for the second time in five minutes. It was not wholly unpleasant. And the slow trail of a tongue across his closed lips set more than just his hairs on end.

The moment he felt those lips part against his assault and a hand touch his hip, Echizen pulled away and took aim. Satisfaction was as sharp as a shotgun going off, to witness those annoying eyes go all googly while the mouth twisted in pain. No matter how tall and complacent anyone was, they could always be humbled by their knees or in more compassionate cases like this, the ankle.

"Who's being kidded now? Heh. Mada mada da ne."

Turning tail, he ran off, mocking laughter swiftly swallowed by the breeze.

Seized by a burning desire to go after the escaping brat, Shiraishi stopped himself. What would he do, when he caught him? Give him a good hiding? That one was still a kid, to childishly kick his ankle. Damnit, he hated him. Or to be more exact, he hated the way he found himself staring after the younger boy while speculating too much. There would be another time for revenge. Oh yes. And interest would be exacted as well. He was going to make Echizen Ryoma pay. How dare that runt take his first kiss!

Relishing the extra bounce in his steps as he ran up the stairs, Ryoma was almost convinced that he could float. Triumph in beating the annoying dude at his own game added a shimmer to the air around him. Was that what it felt like, to take a kiss from others? Heady and exultant, he realised that power in controlling a tennis game was a wonderful kick and this type of power over people was different, but no less amazing. Was this how Atob- Er, monkey king felt on a daily basis? A twinge of uneasiness pricked him, as he remembered the expression on the captain's face just after he broke off the contact, and before he kicked.

Like innocence fading, there was a solemn steadiness that reminded him of Karupin eyeing the feed-bowl when hunger started to make itself felt.

The feeling was weird. It stabbed deep to take hold of his legs, nearly rooting them to the ground. For that instance, it also stifled his chest. He had not wanted to go through with the spur-of-moment finish. But it was precisely this feeling which made something wobbly inside, and the thought that he could not- So he did, to prove it wrong, whatever it was. And he had, but why couldn't he dismiss that look? And why couldn't he just. Forget. It. All? What was wrong? The doorknob was in front of him, but he did not see it. He was seeing Yukimura Seiichi's smile in the dining hall, and the pleasing tickle it elicited in his throat.

It struck him that he had not ever seen Shiraishi Kuranosuke truly smile.

Now he was being as random as the other guy- Oh fuck it. This camp was screwed. He needed a shower.

When he finished and came back to the room in baggy white t-shirt and shorts, he saw his senior.

"Echizen-kun, you didn't come to dinner."

Bunching up the towel, Echizen shrugged. "Not hungry, Fuji-senpai." That was partially true, in light of all that had happened. But Fuji didn't go away. He stood there, one arm behind the back while leaning against the door. Blue eyes studied the first-year player with calm deliberation.

"I bumped into Shiraishi-san just now. He said you might want one of these."

Echizen stared at the three small oblong shapes being offered, as if they were about to lunge and bite him. Muesli bars of some sort in rather colourful wrappings? Slow churning in his stomach could not match the roiling of his thought patterns, which worked his mouth before he could co-ordinate the response.

"Why?"

Now it was Fuji's turn to be puzzled. He didn't understand the plaintive question. Or rather, he would be certain, if he could figure out what had transpired between those two to make someone as laidback as Echizen come up with _that_ look. Did he think the bible of Shitenhouji was going to poison him?

"He said something about Chitose-san or Konjiki-san lending a hint. What a sense of timing."

If there was anything more implied in those statements, they were ignored. Turning away and strolling to the window to let his wrinkled towel drape over the rail just beneath, a shrug of the shoulders was the only answer given. Taking his time laying it out, Echizen swung around and going back to his senior, glanced down at the bars again and gingerly took one.

"Thanks, Fuji-senpai. Could you return the rest to him? Or do whatever you like with them."

That said, he was about to move away when in mid-turn, the genius surprised him.

"Echizen-kun, if you ever need someone to talk to, you can rely on- Your seniors, alright?"

Fuji was rewarded with a blank stare, followed by absolute dismissal as his junior went to the window again and this time, did not turn around. Eyeing the two bars left in his hand, he wondered if there was any significance to Echizen choosing the one wrapped in grey and yellow, over the purple or the red one. After all, the honey-nut-apple combination for all three was approximately the same, separated only by different manufacturers. Nah. He was probably over-analysing. Shaking his head, Fuji left. Maybe he would have better luck with Shiraishi.

Waiting until he heard the muted swish of the door shutting, shoulders slumping, the solitary figure in the room finally let out a sigh. Did that captain have an ulterior motive? Was he going to try to avenge himself for that afternoon's tomfoolery? But the wrapper was intact, and he saw no reason to refuse... Breaking open the seal, he bit into the bar. Satisfyingly chewy without any chance of tiring the jaw, mildly salty crunch of hazelnuts was made even more tantalising by the threads of honey coating his taste buds. Hm, he would have to persuade his mother to get this brand of breakfast bar. The full moon was the only source of light he trusted with his privacy at this point. Unexpected sweetness of biting into apple nearly made his stomach keel over. Relaxing with a beatific smile, Echizen Ryoma looked out at the landscape before him.

Fragile rays of translucent radiance bathed concrete in a pouting softness, making him wonder about the texture of moon cheese. The light stained the glass windows into semi-opaqueness, glinting off metal support and rendering silver loose spikes into tips of beauty- Er. Three-quarter profile of the last person he wanted to see at this point was illuminated too clearly. Standing one floor below at the L-shaped end of the block and arms resting on the steel railing, the subject of Ryoma's focus seemed lost in thought. And the face did not resemble a mask, bones and skin subtly arranged to expose rueful something-ness and a tension whose taste probably defied the goodness of what the Seigaku student had just bitten into. He couldn't remember the half-eaten muesli bar any more. He couldn't look away either. He wasn't sure what he was admiring, or why. Watching the older boy start to gracefully unwind bandages from the left hand, he was also aware of a growing compulsion to hide under his blanket.

Gaze dropping to his fingers holding the thoughtful token from Shitenhouji's tennis captain, he lost his appetite. Tennis was much easier than life. Tennis was much more clear-cut. Life was too confusing, and people increased the difficulty in self-understanding. Why, oh why did he have to grow up?

Half-closed eyelids lifting again, he received a shock. Shiraishi was now looking straight at him. Neutrality had hardened, marring the gentle attractiveness. Seriousness was immutable, and was there malevolence in the grim slant of the mouth? What was with that? Prick. Prick. Prick. His conscience was not helping. Swallowing and stepping away from the window, he hurriedly retreated and headed for the bathroom.

Brushing his teeth now felt like a great idea, the bed looked very appealing and after this camp, he would have to get Inui-senpai a new bottle of mouthwash to compensate for constantly using his. Chucking away remnants of the bar, he went through the necessary motions, hurried to switch off the lights and dived into bed. Burying himself under the blanket, a fresh realisation nearly made him wail.

Just now, had he _actually_ considered another guy good-looking? Damn the hormones. Damn pervert captains. Maybe he would ask a girl on a date after this camp, like Ryuuzaki Sakuno. Er. Maybe that could wait. With that possibility, Ryoma willed himself to sleep. But sleep was long in coming.

And in the night, one hand over his heart, a lone captain stared at the moon - as round as the iris fixed in an unblinkingly wide eye - while wondering about all things lost being stored there.

* * *

As if he would be pigeonholed into a limp-wristed swooning emo wimp! Almost half-asleep, eyelashes slid back to reveal defiant gold beneath the moon. If life was a script drafted by sadists, Echizen Ryoma swore not to give them that satisfaction.

* * *

**A/N: **If you've read this far, thanks for perusing! *Is scratching head over where to go next, chapter-wise* All things lost being stored on the moon is a reference to Alexander Pope's Rape of The Lock ie "All things lost on the moon stored there".


	5. Captain, my captain, it was the juice

**Disclaimer**: See the first chapter's disclaimer. Writing allows one to kill time without being penalised.

**A/N**: I'm at least 10 chapters behind the current manga. Having browsed some fics about girl!Echizen, it's amazing how 1) Echizen quickly/easily/suddenly accepts being a girl and/or 2) Echizen becomes OOC due to gender change and everybody falls for her toot sweet. I finally got the urge to tackle the subject. So here's my serious parody. Or not.

I'm using 'hir' and '(s)he' to denote when Echizen is having self-perception trouble with gender and can't be as neutral as Sweden. Usage of he and she is also dependent on how Echizen sees himself at that point of time. And as to whether this works, read on and find out. Still working on my writing issues.

Thanks for the reviews and concrit! If there's a next chapter after this one, I'll have to read the manga to catch up but having skimmed chapter 32, I'm not sure I want to.

**Captain, my captain, it was the juice-**

Broccoli, alpine needles and mango? Maybe pomegranate, lemon plus starfruit and a touch of fermented tofu would be better. Practice for the day was over. Inui Sadaharu was forging ahead with his mental ambitions to become the world's first Nobel Prize-winning juice alchemist. However, he was frustrated with his own limitations. Influencing people at breakfast was insufficient. He wanted to make an impact! It would be a life-changing statement that would permeate this planet, long after he was gone. His greater experiments could not yet be unleashed, although the day he dreamt of was surely coming closer. But cause and consequence did not necessarily correlate in an ascending linear relationship yet, proven by the gaps in coming up with that precious missing link through painstaking tests. Hand on the knob and about to exit their dorm room, he was all poised to go for a shower. How would he ever achieve it, at this pitiful rate?

"Inui-senpai. DidyougiveFuji-senpaithatjuice?"

Snapped out of his quest for glory, Inui did not notice the unusually rushed hissing in his junior's question. What he noticed, when he turned around to face Echizen was more vital.

The boy hadn't showered, and was red-faced. Clad in sweat-stained shirt and shorts, a short towel now lowered and clenched between both fists, the chest anatomy was 100.0% warped. Inui was reminded of a tennis ball sliced into half. Topped with 2 bubbly tips. In the wrong places.

A spurt of energy flooded his veins, making his body tingle. The electrical jolt was inspiring enough to lighten him in a magical flush of hormones, resulting in a rush of blood to the head… and out the nose. The swell of a muted choir burst into birdsong very similar to Vangelis' Chariots of Fire, mental symphony accompanying unsuppressed imagery of A-B-C-(.)-(.)-:DDDD: graphic detail biological possibilities.

The uncrowned inventor fainted.

And was woken by increasingly vicious kicks to his upper torso, which calculatedly avoided his head.

"Get the fuck up! Inui-senpai, find Fuji-senpai! When will this disappear? Fix this!"

It was almost a shriek, except that Echizen had descended into shrill whispers. Funny how hysterical his usually unruffled and snarky junior was sounding, except that Inui was not amused. He was horrified. Fudgecakes, it had been meant for Fuji! Fuji was supposed to pay for criticizing one of his best tennis-training juice recipes! After he'd actually begged Fuji to give this one a try, the guy had been sly enough to let someone else taste it first?

"Echizen- I-I don't know- You-Why-"

"He said if I drank a sip of it, I wouldn't need any more milk! That he was sure it worked! And now I'm like this! I- GET UP! You have to undo this before tomorrow!"

At least now he knew how to get Seigaku's pillar into a chatty mood: Make him panic.

Pulling himself up and hurriedly shoving his glasses back onto his nose, Inui took a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. His current organisational capabilities were so many little chickens running around, like headless… chickens. "You need to stay somewhere first, while I sort things out. So why don't you-"

"I won't let anybody else see this. Not our room!"

Ok, so not a big room. A smaller room. Which of the other players had been able to snag one of the few twin beds- "Is there anybody you might trust to, er," _Not mock you- shut up-_ _that's_ _not_ _helping_- "Help you in this situation?"

Biting his lip and thinking hard, Echizen came up firing blanks. Ok, not complete blanks, but nothing came to mind. Until he thought of his cat. But he couldn't- The embarrassment- He contemplated dying on the spot. His father might actually weep. His mother could happily avoid western breakfasts completely. His beloved Karupin would never be fed her favourite kelp-flavoured milk again- Damn milk had gotten him into this in the first place! Damn the day he ever listened to his seniors! Had he ever used so many exclamation marks in his life? Had the juice done more than just physical changes? Was he really a girl? He hadn't stopped to check in the bathroom, but his underwear felt airier. _Inui-senpai, I'm going to-_

"Aha! Rikkai Dai's captain and vice-captain share a room. A 93.7% chance that they will er, put up with you."

Shoulders sagging in resignation and temporary respite from the mind-numbing terror of his discovery, Echizen wanted to be teleported off this planet and out of this camp. But his feet were still here, and his palms were still clammy. And he still wanted to punch out his seniors' lights.

"Alright. Let's go. Just. Fix. This."

Politeness was tacked on as an afterthought, a glaring contrast to golden laser beams that told a flustered spectacled scientist a completely different story of how many times he'd been mentally slaughtered by his accidental guinea pig. One was not about to confess about making up that last statistic.

"Please."

Well, Inui was sure that given two hours of uninterrupted experimenting and provided they could find the ingredients, he was 50.9% confident of reversing the juice. Either way, it wouldn't hurt to have Fuji assisting (since the genius was capable of decoding most things), and a potentially laughable result safely squirreled away. He would have to accomplish the second objective first, before he could go hunting (and possibly begging) for the first.

"Stay close behind me. And um, keep the towel over your front. Upper. Like- NOTSO!- close."

At any other time, Echizen Ryoma would have taken pleasure in a un-Inui-like Inui. However, he had just been gifted with foresight of an extraordinary omen of doom. And he had to share it.

"If I have to experience a period, I will kill you."

Why the hell did Rikkai Dai Kazuoku have to be in another block?

"And if this ever gets out, I will mutilate you."

What movies had this junior been watching?

"And why did your nose bleed?"

Swiping his hand across his face, where the *%# was THAT room?

* * *

"Wow, the Seigaku wonderbrat is really close to his seniors," remarked Oshitari Yuushi, shuffling cards while glancing out the window. Busy drying his hair, Hyotei's captain didn't see or hear anything. He was contemplating possible poker players. And a more private room with less spectators, as Atobe Keigo was not about to let the rest of his squad see that he had less-than-sterling poker capabilities.

"Like plaster of Paris, only weirder."

The comment was ignored. Neatly draping the towel over the railing, Atobe bantered with the other for almost an hour, before deciding on the perfect place.

"Follow me. We're going to our fellow competitors."

* * *

Rearranging the songs on his Ipod and hearing a faint rapping, a sprawled-out-on-bed Yukimura Seiichi glanced at the door. As usual, Sanada Genichirou was quicker. He opened up to find a pale and sweaty Inui, who had been getting more anxious with every wrong room approached and strange looks from the occupants. Five fingernails digging deeper into the lower back with every realised error was a nagging reminder.

"Hi, Sanada-san, ah, can I, er, we, ah, please come in?"

Given that their Renji would never behave like this, it was easy to realise that something was troubling Seigaku's data master.

Without waiting, Inui stepped in and just as quickly, the door was nudged shut with a foot. Both Rikkai Dai players did not recognise the owner, until they saw the paler face peering out from behind the taller student's back.

"Echizen-kun, is something wrong?" was Yukimura's greeting, which glued them both to the spot.

"I realise our unexpected and abrupt visit necessitates an explanation, so please sit down first. And um, I'll explain. Or something. And I need your co-operation."

So saying, Inui waited until his target audience was seated. After a bit of shuffling and near-wrestling, he got his junior to show hirself. The towel was sufficient to muff the finer details he'd seen earlier but judging by widening eyes, owl-like expressions and frozen postures, the gist of the scenario was starting to sink in. And then he commenced with a wonderfully summarised explanation, omitting the unnecessary (such as death threats).

As with unusual situations comprising high levels of potential insanity and shocking people into a response, Sanada expressed himself beautifully.

"Are those real?"

He so wanted to slug the questioner. The warmth enveloping Echizen Ryomawas similar to reaching the limits of a full bladder while trying to put off a bathroom trip when in the wild. A rush, followed by a shiver, but no relief from emptiness. Only greater heat, and the sweaty fullness of being in an unwelcome position. Now he could understand what Thomas Harris wrote about in Red Dragon, about people's gazes darting all over the body like pinpoints of lasers that could be felt.

Quickly looking elsewhere and asking Echizen to sit on a chair, Yukimura asked Inui about his plans. After a bit of discussion and snapping at his roommate to stop staring, he fell into silence. The space hummed with the nervousness of unsettlement. And before a minute had passed, Yukimura Seiichi demonstrated why he was captain of a very talented team. Heading to the closet and rummaging through the drawers, he emerged with a jersey, shampoo and soap, a plastic bag, white shirt and a cream-coloured towel.

"Echizen, go shower after I do something. Inui, escort him to the entrance of the nearest bathroom three doors down, and then get him a clean pair of shorts or pants. After that, you return to your block for a shower and do what you have to. We will take care of the rest."

So saying, he deposited everything but the white shirt into Echizen's arms. That was slung over a shoulder. Then going to the shoe rack, he took one of his tennis shoes and began to remove the shoelace. Everybody else was still struggling to tread water and stay afloat with the plot.

"Why? And what are you going to do?" Inui couldn't resist bleating.

It became clearer when Yukimura picked up a pen from the desk, and advanced on the shrinking individual with a trapped expression. Dropping down so that they were on the same eye level, the captain was talking to him. Polite murmuring was now so soft that none of the other two could hear, and their view was being blocked by his back. But judging by the vehement shaking of his junior's head, all was not smooth. So Inui repeated himself, making it louder. Sanada was still a statue.

"Echizen should clean up. Nothing's certain yet. You need to be refreshed enough to do the necessary. I and Sanada are going to help our temporary roommate feel a little more comfortable. Besides…"

Tossing the shirt at the vice-captain and voice no longer gentle, a little known secret was not-so-subtly imbued with the hinted promise of a fate worse than death if it ever got out.

"Contrary to what the rest of our squad thinks, I'm not the one who can sew."

Inui's head was on the verge of exploding. Too much contradictory information that he was happier not knowing was threatening to give him an aneurysm. Suitably numb by now, he watched Yukimura somehow persuade Echizen to co-operate with arms raised. The pen marked a few spots on the shoelace with crosses and lines, and then he was walking to Sanada and gently shaking him.

"All yours now. Use the stuff and we'll see you after your shower, Echizen-kun. Sanada, where's the scissors and thread? It will be almost like a bandeau with thin halter-neck assistance that can be unbuttoned. A third button in front with three holes for adjustment, and as to the measurements-"

Both quietly left the room, closing the door on what was shaping into the weirdest tailoring session for one traumatised tennis emperor.

Inui wanted to be rid of this situation. Guilt was an uncomfortable pressure, and pinched tightness of the younger boy's face was pushing him closer to an apology with every step. In other circumstances and if he disliked Echizen, he might have rejoiced at the potency of his concoctions, but not when misery was too close for comfort.

To quote Momoshiro, this sucked ass. Majorly.

Herding his junior to the specified bathroom and making sure he was secure in a cubicle, Inui left to get a clean pair of shorts and make preparations for the long night ahead. After returning with shorts for Echizen, he left to take a shower and make preparations for what lay ahead. One was going to need a lot of dental floss as a last resort, if all attempts to persuade Fuji failed.

Having the source of trouble conveniently exiting the main picture, it was now possible to skip the shower scene details of Echizen's routine and allow hir to get dressed. However, the usual underwear just felt too oddly baggy, so it was stuffed in the plastic bag with the soiled clothes.

"Ryoma-kun, are you done?"

Knowing that Rikkai Dai's captain had come to check was reassuring, since Echizen could not even decide how to address oneself. If this were a story, what would be used? He? She? It? What the hell? Er. ER. Whatever. Well, that felt acceptable. After all, in light of feeling up new assets in the shower, he was now damn confused as to what a guy in a girl's body would be classified as. 'Gender crisis' did not even come close. ER wanted to punch someone. Or something.

"Ryoma-kun…"

The tone was polite, but carried a strong undercurrent of limited patience. Not wanting to lose a potentially useful bodyguard, ER gingerly opened the cubicle door. Hands draping a jacket back to front across his shoulders were a surprise, and the plastic bag was taken from him. Even more surprising was- One hand running through tousled black hair, Yukimura Seiichi's smile and forcefulness was disturbingly charming. Did those lips need balm to look so perfect? And why was he being reminded of manga? Manga, such as the Noah Tyki Mikk from -man?

"Let's go. Wait until you see Sanada's fort."

Fort? Graciously ushered to his temporary hideout, ER had to resist the urge to crack up. What was that suspended blanket thingamagick tied to one end of the bed, with two other ends tied to hooks in the wall? With rocket-colourful paper signs saying "KEEP OUT" "DON'T TOUCH" "GAAAAAAAAAH"- A hand was clapped across his mouth. A warning tickled his earlobe.

"Keep the volume down, or he'll go berserk on you."

Echizen was not about to go berserk, but he was definitely contemplating ballistic. It was- Goddamn female zoning, which he called his mother's ability to notice and nitpick to potentially ridiculous levels. The hand on his shoulder was fine. The voice in his ear made him want to jerk his head away. But the zinger was the contact wrapped around his left upper arm. Fingers were grazing his- Bo- Br- Inner ER shrieked at him to punch out the other guy's lights, intentional or not. Inner ER was also sounding somewhat hysterical. Hence, inner ER's alter ego knocked out the feminine twerp.

Spinning around, Echizen shoved himself away from the older boy and staggered. However, he used too much force, tripped, and was about to overbalance, which was on course for ruining the Sanada Fort. Before that could happen, two hands grabbed and steadied him. Finding himself pressed against another boy was unnerving enough. Before ER could be disgusted, the ground moved away from him. Gentle deposition on the other bed was no buffer for the impact of a quietly blunt observation.

"Being a girl really unsettles you."

_I am not a girl! _ER wanted to scream. Then promptly wanted to strangle the vocal chords for not considering shouting. Noticing the unnecessary details of another guy was puke-worthy enough, and appreciating more than that was even worse. Revulsion warred with attraction. This situation really stank. He didn't want to hit someone who was trying to help. She didn't want this crazy complex. They couldn't even formulate a proper comeback. Pale face, meet tan hands.

Only the hum of the fan could be heard.

Eventually, the mattress dipped. An arm circled his shoulders. Not looking up, his other senses compensated.

"Please don't cry."

Being treated like a girl was not helping the growing lump in the throat, the dampening itch in the eyes, and crumpling self-confidence. Clamping down on a surge of rage that was swallowed by sudden depression- Before he choked permanently, Echizen had to get it out.

"Don't. Treatmelikea- Girl."

Shrouded in misery, the world rose, shifted and came to a pause. The landing was off. Opening closed eyes, an unfortunate victim of gender-swap juice found hirself in an OMGSHOUJOMANGAWAAAAA moment. One leg stretched out, the other was bent at the knee like a tent. And Echizen was between them. Even with two barriers of clothing, the stomach and chest currently serving as a cushion was not tofu-delicate. Sturdy, there was muscle and hardly any fat. Echizen could only stare at long fingers closing over his fist. Cool and gentle, they warmed him enough to make inner ER squirm. Inner ER also took the opportunity to point out that- _His hand is holding my hand. His hand. My h- _

Cheeks a flaming red, ER was glad the other guy could not see his face. Wriggling away, he was stopped. And pulled back into uneasy proximity. The softest sigh was exhaled by his self-appointed guardian.

"Feeling better?"

Result of the interrupted escape attempt was well, awkward. Winding up on his side, legs loosely curled, where the hell were his hands? Oh yeah, doing their best 'cat-squashed-at-the-window' impression. Hands braced against slumped shoulders, ear pressed to the chest, the relaxed rhythm of heartbeat was strangely comforting. And now there were fingers gently skimming his hair, stroking his scalp, and soothing enough to- Wake Echizen up. Bolting upright to twist around and narrowly missing a collision with a chin, yellow alarm looked into innocent puzzlement.

"What are you doing?"

"Treating you like a girl. Wasn't that your request?"

"I did not-" How did the message get misinterpreted? How did things get this weird? Why couldn't he work up enough energy to punch Seiichi? Chivalry was not dead but once he got back to normal, he would slaughter it. "I'm a guy, even if this is damn confusing! You are seriously sick!"

"Not in your present state. And if you keep wriggling like that- Since I'm supposed to be sick… well, I'll just have to give you a good reason to hit me and feel more kickass than Karupin."

Touch lighter than silk grazed the smaller chin, then gripped it firmly. The sensation brought a queer fluttery quiver to ER's belly. Dark eyes, velvety and heady as vintage wine, stared into his. Few had ever seen Yukimura Seiichi this serious and leaning closer. No mental protest had a chance to pipe up, because all was silenced by a captain's lips.

Expected outrage and a lot of noise did not happen. Rather, there was a lot of blinking from the bewildered pillar of Seigaku. Mental traffic lights were jammed. Eyes open, Yukimura was about to retreat when small hands closed over his shoulders. Frozen indecision radiated from Inui's junior, which was enough encouragement as opposed to outright rejection. One arm slipping to the narrower waist, Rikkai Dai's captain went with the flow. And pulling his rival closer, set about learning a new tongue.

Information overload. The realm of senses exploded into many pathways beyond Echizen's ability to fully comprehend at once. They made one dizzy enough to close both eyes. The tongue experimentally darted out to acknowledge another, and taste was sweet and salty and sublime all at once. As the seconds passed, so did passivity. One kiss led to another, and another, longer and more inviting and less hesitant. Bodies pressed against each other, it was only a matter of time before things turned serious. Chaos became contained enough to shift and not be lost, buoyed by firm support and increasing enthusiasm. Roaming of larger hands under the jersey induced delightful shivers, which led to reciprocating boldness. Black strands tickled the throat, as questing lips drifted lower. Teeth and lips left their indentations on a tanned neck, seeking unexplored territory. Cool air on exposed skin was no panacea for the rising temperature of their activities.

Now backed by the bed, Ryoma was dimly aware that brakes were in her vocabulary, but could not summon the will to protest. Longer black hair carried the faint scent of vanilla dusted with an unknown spice. Fingers splayed over fair skin and taut muscle, it was difficult to remember what she was supposed to resist. Lingering, stroking a bare ankle, deliberate slowness of his touch drifting up her leg set those limbs trembling. A persistent hardness at his groin (which she would have considered abhorrent under usual circumstances) was evident, and rubbing against it brought a gasp from her accomplice. Better than petting Karupin, the feeling grew into an inexplicable frustration. Timely distraction came in the form of air on the chest, followed by- A moan could not be suppressed. _What was –_ _Y-Yuki- Seichiiiii-_

Ryoma was now able to understand first-hand about the sensitivity of specific female anatomy. Nipples, when sucked upon nearly blew the mind away. Her spine was tingly and weird, and went all the way down to that new space of moisture between her legs. Another moan escaped. She wanted to be closer. She wanted his mouth on hers again. One hand kneading his back, the other tugging at his shirt, the urge was noted. And ever the gentleman, Seichii gave. Desiring each other, gripped in the passion of hormones and momentarily tamed by a newly compelling emotion in their kiss, there was nothing to stop two lovers snowballing towards the inevitable.

Fate intervened through Oshitari Yuushi deciding to showcase his lock-picking skills at the wrong time.

Gleefully pushing open the door, Hyotei's vice-captain and captain stopped.

Perhaps it was the ludicrous signs on the blanket from the bed of Sanada's fort. Perhaps it was the two making out on the other bed. Or perhaps, it was who they saw making out on the other bed.

Frosted ice-cones was an apt label, especially when the couple on the bed realised the presence of intruders and their identities. _Oh. My. Fucking. God._

A discreet redness crept up a tanned neck, before suffusing the cheeks with vividly crimson. Crazy. Being found by- Failure and rejection at digesting this scenario sent adrenaline shooting through the veins, and instinct was hellbent on fleeing. Abruptly shoving hard and twisting off the bed, a pint-sized dynamo tore around and past unmoving figures to bolt out the door. Hyotei's genius was as aghast as Rikkai Dai's captain looked. Staring at each other, both had too many questions to ask.

In the meanwhile, vision blurring, Echizen Ryoma did not care where (s)he was going. Savagely swiping a hand across his face, offensive wet marks were removed. But why the hell was the damp coming back? What the fuck was wrong with hir eyes? Being interrupted by two tennis rivals- When (s)he was like this- Every skin fiber was scalded with what (s)he wanted to forget but couldn't. The ways things were going, (s)he wasn't sure as to what (s)he wanted to forget anymo-

The sudden jerk of hir body (as it was forced to stop) jolted him out of misery. Looking around, (s)he saw hir wrist had been snagged. And of all people, it had to be Monkey King looking down at him! Stupid Inui-senpai, for telling him to drink milk and yet there was no visible improvement in height OR reach!

"I don't know which is weirder: The tears on your cheeks or the fury in your bared teeth."

The comment stung more than his eyes. Inui-senpai was going to be pole-axed after this, oh yes!

"But, I do know…"

Hand balling into a fist, Echizen was ready to literally throw a punch-line back at the arrogant lout who was oddly without a smirk or sarcasm.

"If you're going to make faces of any sort, Echizen Ryoma, I want them to be for me. Not Yukimura Seichii. Not Tezuka Kunimitsu."

_Only me._

Those last two words were not said, but came through. Lips grazed her wrist, unexpectedly shocking. The expression on a blond-haired, blue-eyed devil was arresting, but not as arresting as the fact that he was now on one knee, one hand placed over his heart. And just like that, Ryoma was sucker-punched for the second time that day. It would not be surprising if cuckoo clocks sang, if rose petals swirled and swooned, or if lightning was generated between eyeballs and sizzled them both to cinders on the spot. But as it stood, one's developing feminine intuition deftly ruined it all.

Atobe Keigo was mean. Gesture, posture, voice hypnotised with layers of meaning richer than a princess cake, hence system overload was impending. Tender, determined, sincere and a ton of other descriptions marched through the thoughts of a susceptible gender-confused teenager, and none of it was conducive to sanity. So much like looking at a greek god- Mussed hair was a burnished gold under the hallway lights. His eyes were- so- Blue- Realisation gave birth to desperation, and strength born of desperation was liberating.

Twisting free, Echizen Ryoma fled as if the hounds of hell gave chase, and did not look back. (S)he did not dare to. Air. Need air. The roof. Any roof but this building- Running down a few flights of stairs to the next block and then up, the door at the end was either locked or jammed. Putting hir shoulder to the wood and heaving, once, twice, eventually with a groan and squeal of creaking wood, it gave way. And (s)he was there.

Forcefully closing the door, one could finally pause. It was odd how the leg muscles burned, even though nothing remotely close to a work-out had been done. Jersey damp with sweat, hands were bunched over the knees. Being a girl must have altered the muscle mass ratio and fitness level too, argh! No wonder girls could multi-task so well and were more likely to go nuts; they had way too many things going on and too much to feel but without the endurance! All this only increased the urge to shriek out overwhelming frustration at everything that had happened!

_Fwoosh_ of pages being shut made the bowed figure look up. Right up at a pair of hands less than ten feet away, one of which held a hardcover book and the other was free but bandaged.

Could anything else go wrong today? Echizen was not about to wait and find out. Pivoting quickly, (s)he was already turning and pulling the knob. The door budged slightly, only to be slammed back soundly into place by the hand that landed against it. But that was not as annoying as the shadow. ER was tired of shadows and twists of melodramatic surprise, especially those taller than hir. Whirling around and ready to kick, (s)he realised that the other boy had stepped away and was eyeing hir with an inscrutable coolness. Before (s)he could turn away again, one hand wrapped about hir upper arm and dragged hir away from the door.

"Echizen Ryoma, we have unf-" The sentence petered off into uncertainty.

Oh great, yet another guy was cottoning on. Stalking to said door, (s)he worked on opening it with renewed viciousness. This time, it really wouldn't open. And yet again, (s)he found himself dragged away. Ryoma wanted to weep or rage. She was resigned. She had enough of corners. She had had enough of guys. She just wanted to be left alone for at least a few hours. The choked-up maelstrom of emotions came out as a babble, along with a lot of shoving to try to make the Shitenhouji captain back off.

"I'm a girl due to Inui's stupid experiment and I want to be alone and I don't want to see anymore captains, so could you get over it and get lost without kissing or crazy declarations or weird treat-"

"Hm. So? Either way, you're cute."

A lot of blinking occurred.

"But you're still a damn arrogant brat who needs a good spanking."

Nimbly dodging the kick meant for his shins, Shiraishi grabbed Echizen around the waist and lifted her well and away from the exit. Moving her across the rooftop and depositing her right where she could look over the edge and enjoy the view, he stepped back. He did not expect her to cover her face with both hands and sink to the ground. He was quick to swoop in and catch her, while quietly offering himself as a giant handkerchief for this Echizen to let loose. Fingers digging into his shirt and skin were almost painful, but he bore it with the faintest of sighs. Girls were trouble. A guy-turned-girl (for reasons he couldn't and didn't want to know) was obviously in a lot of trouble, given- Wait, hadn't Echizen mentioned other captains? And odd stuff going on? Remembering what had been blurted out just now, Shiraishi could guess. The last thing this gender-confused near-wreck would want was anymore contact. Sheesh, what a mess.

Gingerly working himself free from her clutches, he decided to try and get that door unjammed.

His actions surprised Echizen, who found herself miffed that the other guy had moved away to try and wrench the door open. And another part of herself was miffed that she was miffed. Couldn't she decide what she wanted? Oh hell, she was even switching adjectives completely. Gah. Gah!

"Sh- Shiraishi-san…"

"Yes?"

"I-I'm going to sit here and enjoy being a wuss for a while. Could you leave the door alone?"

"Echizen Ryoma, what is making you… 'freak out'?"

The gentleness was too much to bear. And so was the corresponding explosion.

"THIS! ALL THIS! I'M NOT ME! I CAN'T BALANCE, CAN'T DECIDE STRAIGHT, CAN'T CONTROL MYSELF AS NORMAL, I- I- ON TOP OF THAT, I HAVE BOOBS AND NO BAZOOKA!"

Gasping laughter gurgling like a choking cistern lit a sizzling fuse and sent it soaring into space (Or in this case, a very pissed-off Echizen Ryoma launching hirself at the slumped-against-the-door senior who seemed to be mocking hir miserable state). It didn't help that (s)he found hir wrists caught and held fast by bigger hands. Before (s)he could thrash and kick hirself free, (s)he found hir knees interlocked with his.

"Ryoma-kun, for a supposed emotional wreck, you still have the most unexpectedly witty lines."

Blink. Blink. If ER's inner self could see into the other boy, (s)he would have been surprised as Shiraishi at Shiraishi's own reaction. It was a melting butter puddle. The urge to be kind was growing. All thoughts of potential revenge had been drowned. Or had it?

"I know how we can establish that regardless of any physical change, you're still you. Remember the previous time you kissed me? Well, do it again."

Echizen Ryoma had to suppress the urge to gag. Had the Bible of Shitenhouji lost his head?

"You obviously didn't like it; hence you could easily kick me."

Memory furiously ripped open a particular filing cabinet, shoving the spray of images out and behind the retinas. Yes, it made sense. But another kiss? With another captain? Something itched at a spot beneath the left shoulder.

"If you're repulsed by the thought alone, then reinforce the reality of that response once more. It would prove that Echizen Ryoma then and now hasn't changed inside."

And just like that, a mere mortal tormented by fate and science was given a glimpse of resolution by the suggestion.

Almost unsteady at the sudden withdrawal again, Echizen straightened up. Staring up into the absolutely serious face of the other who was now flat against the door, (s)he had to suppress the desire to turn tail and bail. The contents of an almost empty stomach were inexplicably fidgety and quaking. But our protagonist was desperate and exhausted. (S)he wanted to feel like hirself again. One hand over the other behind the back, biting a lower lip hesitantly, (s)he strained on tiptoe towards the other youth. And contact was established.

Dry. A bit chapped. HmMm?

He didn't know how long he stood there.

He couldn't- wouldn't- Fall-

He shouldn't be licking the lips provocatively nuzzling his own-

But he did.

The desperately-sought lightning strike of disgust never hit. But the blow of a very different response was staggering. So Ryoma staggered. And retreated as rapidly as he could, almost tripping over his own feet and unable to look away from- from- Shi-

Oh. No. He would have to jump.

Stunned by an anticipated response that didn't manifest, Shiraishi Kuranosuke recovered fast enough to chase and grab for the distraught junior who was probably about to do something incredibly daft. This resulted in a spectacular tumble of arms and legs and possibly bruised egos. Narrowly avoiding a painful connection between too many bones, the motionless figure lying beneath him elicited concern he did not expect himself to possess. One arm covered the upper face.

"Echizen? Ryoma-kun? Ryoma?"

There was no answer. Except for the picture-perfect trace of a transparent line sliding down the cheek, from unblinking eyes wide with seeing nothing but an anathema that was real and about to be comprehended. The whisper was almost as unnerving as the shudder from knowledge.

"Why?"

Too many seconds passed by, before Shiraishi gently took that wrist and lifted it to see.

Restrained pain was a burning brand in the chest. The cracked shell finally gave way. Echizen Ryoma, ER, alter ego and alter ego's ego finally met… Swapped gazes, nodded in sympathetic understanding, hugged, and merged.

Allowing Ryoma to lie there in a lesser daze, with another who could not bring himself to leave.

They finally looked each other in the eye.

Neither was sure whether to retreat or stay. So they stayed. And the anguish slowly petered out, confusion dulled its impulsive craziness, but hesitation was due to slowly changing reasons.

The sun was hot overhead, but a subdued prodigy was seeing the moon once again. The play of unerring illumination on features was pure and fierce and cold, strangely softened by lack of self-awareness. Where squirming would have been automatic, something else reigned. A curiosity, a cat whose ears were no longer prickly, a compulsion to- The look on the older youth's face left one hot and shivering and timid. More than the weight of his presence, the subtle transformation kept Ryoma pinned.

From cool languid grace to neutral stoicism, the careful distance coalesced into a keenness that circled, lingered and- and- Fair skin exposed by an unbuttoned collar made the fingers itch to touch a tiny mole. So they reached. It did not help that Shiraishi Kuranosuke, without doing anything, was-

Long fingers threaded themselves through black hair, got a solid hold, and tightened at the same time as their lips met.

It was ruthless, clumsy and respectfully tender. Shaking with new sensations unpeeling like a lotus flower, it was impossible to stop. There was only the primal rhythm of need, of struggle for completion, of- Wave after wave of selflessly violent joy surged, overlapped and spiraled higher than the mind's eye, to collapse into a greater tangled joining that left both seeking more. And as with all that had transpired, nobody wanted to think too deeply on whatever had transpired (loopholes and not).

To give in to the moment for consummation would be more than just urgent sexual rapture, which both had no intention of defying. Not with what they were doing to each other (which was anything but silent or subdued).

Unfortunately, the pounding and destruction of the door dissolved the security of their little haven.

And to make matters worse, the one standing there was as ominously unreadable as his glasses. Gripping a tennis racket, he stared at the picturesque entangled tableau of Seigaku team's youngest and most valuable tennis player surrendering in the arms of an enemy.

A horrified Echizen Ryoma was speechless. As the captain advanced, surprise was displaced by dread. But why no panic? Before she realised or questioned, she was trying to free herself and put herself in front of Shiraishi. Because he, Echizen Ryoma, could not let his-

As the tennis racket was raised, he found his tongue.

"Tezuka-buchou, STOP-"

* * *

_Tezuka Kunimitsu would never raise his racket to another!_

Lying awake in bed, eyes opened by the trauma of such a dumb dream, Echizen wiped the cold sweat beading his brow. Then hastily felt his own chest and abdomen. Whew. (In some beds, a few others were doing almost the same thing and wondering _What the heck was THAT?_ while transfixed by their 'experience'._) _Thank the stars._  
_

Thinking back over those, er, 'events', he realised what his problem was.

_I should have socked them all in the face. _

The next day, fate helpfully decked him. Because of the accidental detour he and Tooyama Kintarou made to chance upon the fifth court gatekeeperOni Juujiro, Echizen Ryoma was mercifully separated from all captains.


End file.
